Coda: Season Seven
by Ryeloza
Summary: A series of post-episode vignettes for season seven.  Chapter Nineteen: Tom, Carlos and Mike drink their sorrows away.  Post-ep for "The Lies Ill-Concealed."
1. Remember

**Disclaimer: **_Desperate Housewives_ absolutely isn't mine. I'm just having fun in their world.

**A/n: **I'm back for season seven and very excited to be doing this again. Like last year I'm also blogging recaps (link under homepage on my profile), so feel free to check them out. As always, I appreciate any and all feedback! Thanks for reading!

**Story Summary: **A series of post-episode vignettes for season seven.

**Chapter Summary: **"The past just sucks you in and makes you that person that you just aren't anymore…" A post-ep for "Remember Paul."

**Coda: Season Seven**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**One: Remember**

_The past just sucks you in and makes you that person that you just aren't anymore…_

_Disappointment_. It's like the word is tattooed across her heart—private and so close that she can feel it with every beat—and only visible to those who know how to look through the chinks in her armor. _Your life is nothing but a disappointment_. It is not—_is!_—true. Once upon the time the world was at her fingertips…

Lynette remembers being twenty-two and leaving college for a whole wide world that was so much bigger than her little house with her little family; so much bigger than her tiny dorm room with her acid-tongued friends; so much bigger than everything she was or ever could be. A place that could swallow her whole if she let it, but she wouldn't because she knew, even at twenty-two, that there was nothing too big for her to survive. Push away the pain—push it deep, deep down inside where no one can see it ever because it's invisible to the naked eye and just keep going like nothing is wrong. She's been doing it since she was a little girl; she knows how to take on the world. That's why everyone always said she would.

Keep it all locked away, deep, deep inside, little girl, and never let it out, never let it show, never let it be. It stays in your heart just blistering and hurting and _thump, thump, thump_—never lets her forget. It makes her hard. Inhuman. Like a super hero. Vulnerability masked in the most elaborate of disguises—can't quite find her weakness. It makes people mad and they poke and prod and push until finally something seeps through

_Disappointment_. _Your life is nothing but a disappointment_.

It took thirty years for someone to notice, but she remembers that moment when Tom saw her—really, truly saw her—and stood staring at her like she was the most beautiful vision in the world because he could see every scar, every blemish, every tiny pain that was ever pushed deep inside. Like she was exquisite because of all that weakness underneath the strength. Don't stare too hard into the sun or you'll get burned. She burned him, burned him so, so badly, and he just pulled her closer and begged her to let him take the pain away.

That's what she thinks soul mates are. The people who bear that horribleness because it's worse not to. She's taken on her fair share too. Risk, risk, such a risk, but she took it and she doesn't regret it. They gave each other everything and what is the rest of the world compared to that? Probably so much more, but she made her choice.

_Disappointment_. Just add another scar. It's not like anyone is going to notice.

…_Or someone you want to believe you're not…_

Better than that.

Better than laughing after Sarah Jacobs was pushed in the mud but everyone was staring and glaring and their eyes all growled, _Why aren't you laughing, Susie Bremmer? _ So she laughed even though it wasn't funny.

Better than stealing Jessica Lowell's bra in seventh grade because she had boobs when Susan didn't and oh wouldn't it be funny just this once…

Better than knowing her husband was cheating on her but being too afraid to be alone to ever do anything more than confront him and accept his cheap lies. A façade for something right before her eyes. And she knew. Everyone knew. But she didn't do anything. He finally left.

Better than sleeping with a guy while her comatose boyfriend lay in the hospital with his heart beating _don't leave, don't leave, don't leave_ but she did because it was easier and lighter and what she wanted.

Better than killing an innocent girl and her mother and then pretending she wasn't responsible so she wouldn't get in trouble and she just kept pushing, pushing, pushing, couldn't let it go, couldn't pretend—not with him—until he finally left.

Better than being disappointed in her daughter for lying and cheating and stealing away whatever hope Susan had left that the world wasn't all darkness and sin.

Better than degrading herself just to make some money to keep her family in tact just for once, please, just for once let it work…

She's not better than that.

…_And how long can you keep pretending that everything is okay…_

Love is ferocious. People want to believe that it's really in the little things—smiles and laughter and tears and hugs and sweet, sweet words—but Carlos knows the truth. Love is a horrible, violent, overwhelming, clawing, never-ending battle. Do whatever it takes to protect it. He does, daily. He is constantly, constantly fighting for Gaby and his girls because they're the only people in the world who matter.

The only unconditional love is that of a parent. Mother to son. Son to daughter. He knows this. It's why so many marriages fail. Love you until you do this and then… He's lived it. He knows. And he knows that even now when Gaby stands by him and looks at him adoringly and tells him again and again that she loves him that there's every chance that one day he'll cross the line and that will be it. She's told him a million times that it's not true, but that's a lie. It's okay. At least she's trying.

But the love of a parent…

His mother used to soothe his wounds and kiss him goodnight and love him no matter what, and Carlos never would, could, did understand until the moment Juanita was born. The doctor handed him that little girl and the entire universe bloomed inside his heart reaching out farther than the eye could see, expanding and twisting and absorbing every bad thing in the world. She was everything. She is everything. And that love has nothing to do with anything but some primal, horrible, possessive, wonderful, hopeful wisdom that she is his. Every part of him that is good and bad; every bit of potential he ever had and wasted; every hope; every dream; every failing—and yet she can never be disappointing because no matter what she will always, always be his.

Except now she might not be.

He thinks it doesn't matter.

He will still fight to the death for that love.

…_When it's obvious that nothing is right anymore._

Bree isn't a wife or a businesswoman or even really a mother anymore and that scares her because what else is there but a desolate nothingness that just stretches out before her like an endless black sea? What is she?

She is a homeowner with the power to rip and destroy and ruin her home. Hers, hers, hers and no one can tell her what to do or why or when. She can just go and tear through the place and never look back. But she can't repair the damage.

She is a fool. Can't see what is right in front of her face, never has, never will because she's too busy being blind and pretending that nothing is ever wrong when everything is and isn't that the classic definition of a fool?

She is someone trying to be honest and failing yet again.

She is a thousand goodbyes written in the sand a hundred years ago and washed away. Don't know they're coming but they've always existed; inevitably rushing toward her like the ocean tide. Nothing ever stays because she's is the sorrow of _adieu_, the whisper of _arrivederci_, the hopelessness of _goodbye_. _Farewell to the world that knew me once because now I am nothing but a memory…_

She is someone trying to be more than nothing.


	2. My Wife

**Disclaimer: **This still isn't mine. I am slowly coming to terms with that.

**Chapter Summary: **Two conversations we didn't see in episode two. Missing scenes from "You Must Meet My Wife."

**Coda: Season Seven**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Two: My Wife**

"As much as I like option two, I think tonight I want to talk."

Lynette nodded, her smile fading slightly as she agreed. He understood; he knew that he wasn't giving her the easy out this time by letting her actions speak for her, but she'd offered and he was going to take advantage of the opportunity. "You got it," she added softly. Despite Lynette's best efforts, he could feel her resistance prickling the air between them now, and in attempt to lessen the tension, he reached out and slowly pulled her robe closed again.

"Let's just save those for later," he joked lamely, not getting more than a hint of a smile in return. Lynette took both of his hands in hers, held them in her lap, and took a deep breath. She was steeling herself against anything that might be said; he could sense it and he almost wanted to shake her until she let go of all of her defenses. Even after twenty years of marriage, she still hated to talk about her feelings, to acknowledge anything that might show she was vulnerable, and he was beginning to question it. She had to know by now that he, of all people, wouldn't judge her or love her any less. Yet here she was, as terrified as she'd always been. Gently, he ran his thumb over her knuckles and said, "Thank you for reading the pamphlet."

"I had to. I didn't want you to think I don't care."

"I know you care. That's not the problem."

"You think I don't listen."

Tom sighed. Getting Renee involved in this was a mistake of epic proportions, but he'd needed someone to talk to. He had to make Lynette understand that. "I think," he said cautiously, "that when you don't want to deal with something, you completely shut down. And that's really hard for me. I need to be able to talk to you."

"You can always talk to me."

Slowly, Tom shook his head, fighting against his urge to pretend that what she said was true. Usually all he did was work to keep her from being hurt; saying something that would cause her pain was against his natural impulses. "No, I can't. Sweetie, I love you, but communication is not your strong suit."

Lynette pulled her hands from his and crossed them over her chest, but Tom settled one on her knee, unwilling to sever their physical connection. "I just offered to talk about whatever you want," she said defensively.

For a second, Tom thought about pointing out that she'd clearly wanted, maybe even expected, him to choose sex, but that wasn't the point. He had to pick and choose his battles here. "One of the reasons that I've been so depressed is because I feel like I can't talk to you. I feel like there's this expectation for me to be so strong for you, to never break down, but sometimes I need to."

"You don't have to be strong all the time. I don't expect that."

"Yeah, you do. You constantly tell me to suck it up or to man up…It makes me feel…" Tom trailed off and shrugged, frustrated by his inability to find the words. "You are the strongest person I know, but you're also my wife. And a husband has to be stronger than his wife."

Lynette's eyes watered dangerously, but she didn't cry. He wished she would. "That's not how it has to be."

"Yes it is." Tom lifted his hand, bringing it up to rest against the back of Lynette's neck and letting his thumb graze over the soft skin there. He wanted her to let go; to break. If she did, he could. "If I'm not strong for you then who will be?"

"Maybe you can let me be strong for you," she said, reaching out to run a hand over his chest. "It can go both ways."

"Yeah. It can go both ways."

Lynette paused, biting her lip for a second and looking at him with a slight twinge of hurt. He knew that he'd backed her into a corner, that he was asking something of her that she didn't really want to give, but he didn't care. She had to open up to him. If she didn't tell him how she felt, then he couldn't open up either. Maybe it was backward or stupid or proud, but it was also a fact. "Please," he added quietly, running his hand over her cheek, begging her with his eyes.

"I just had a baby whose wedding I might not be around for," she said, echoing her words from earlier with a pointed look. "I just had a baby that is going to be completely dependent on me while my other daughter is going through those horrible teenage years. I just had a baby who I don't know if I'll have the energy to keep up with. And right now, I feel like I'm doing it completely alone."

"You're not alone."

"But it feels like it. You just keep complaining, Tom. Like everything I ask you to do is a huge burden. I can't do this on my own."

"And I'm scared I can't do this at all," he said, the words pouring from him easily now that she'd let him in. "Every time I look at our daughter…God, all I see, all I think about is how she nearly died before she even lived. And I couldn't do anything about that. I couldn't protect her. I didn't even know it was happening. I feel completely useless. But you don't ever want to talk about that…You act like it never even happened. So I feel like I have to act like it never happened."

Lynette bowed her head for a second and when she looked up, one single tear was slowly making its way down her cheek. As she reached up to wipe it away, Tom stopped her, grasping her hand between his and holding it tightly. She nodded. "I haven't felt that powerless in a really long time. You know…" She trailed off, but Tom didn't make her finish the sentiment. He did know; he knew how much she couldn't stand not to be in control. He knew that it brought back a hundred thousand unhappy childhood moments where she'd been helpless and scared. She sighed. "I'm still mad at myself for getting into that situation."

"I'm mad at myself for not getting you out of that situation."

Silence blanketed them for a moment, thick and suffocating, before Lynette broke it with a tiny, broken sob. They shared a guilt that neither of them would ever be rid of, and there was nothing either of them could do or say to change that. Still, just knowing that they shared it helped. With a glance at their sleeping daughter, Lynette said, "She's okay. I'm okay. But we need you to be okay too." She looked back at him, her eyes serious and probing. "Are you going to be okay?"

He didn't know what to say; he didn't even know the answer to her question. All he could do was reach out and wrap his arms around her, pulling her into his lap and hugging her tightly. Burying his nose in her hair, smelling the sweet, familiar scent of her, he said the only thing he could: "I need you."

Lynette nodded against his chest. "I know," she murmured comfortingly. "I'm here. Even when it seems like I'm not."

Tom shut his eyes and repeated the words in his head like a mantra. He may have wished for more; for some guarantee that she would suddenly change and be open and communicative and vulnerable, but that wasn't his wife.

There was only so much she could give.

* * *

Carlos wanted to detach himself from the situation. He felt like if he gave himself enough distance he could get out the words. He could pretend as though this wasn't killing him a little more each day; as though he hadn't spent the past month dreading this moment—this inevitable moment when his whole world was going to fall apart. "A few weeks ago," he said, floating up and away from himself, "Jack Pinkham told me that a nurse who was working at the hospital confessed that she switched our baby with Juanita when she was born."

"What are you talking about?"

"Juanita isn't ours. We have another child out there, somewhere, and we're raising someone else's little girl."

The moment was so much worse than Carlos ever thought it could be. Something inside of Gaby broke in a way he'd never seen before and she made some low, inhuman noise: what grief would sound like if it could speak. She didn't deny it; didn't question it; some part of her just wilted and died right before him. Furiously she reached out and began to hit him, trying desperately to displace her anger, but Carlos just pulled her toward him, holding on to her as tightly as he could. "It's going to be okay," he lied. He didn't know what else to say.

Gaby continued to cry, her sobs washing over him like an ocean tide. She was grieving in a way he hadn't been able to—open and wild and honest—and he didn't know what to make of it. When the world was ending, you couldn't lie back and take it; you had to fight back; you had to be strong. He'd known that Gaby would break, that was why he hadn't wanted to tell her, but he realized now that he also hadn't wanted to lose his partner. He wanted that person who would be strong enough to fight to the death with him, and he wasn't so certain that he hadn't just killed that part of his wife forever.

"She's my baby," Gaby wailed. She didn't sound like herself and it frightened him more than anything else. "She's _my _baby!"

"Yes," he agreed, because he felt the same way. Juanita was his, and no one was going to tell him otherwise. "She's ours. She's ours."

"She's my baby." She was repeating the words now like a chant; as if saying them enough times would make what Carlos had told her untrue. He wished that was the case. The only hope that he had to cling to was the knowledge that their babies were miracles. Tiny, perfect miracles that had happened by the grace of God. There was no way that He would take either of them away now. Carlos had seen it proven last year when Lynette had saved Celia, and again this week after Juanita's accident. Those girls were theirs to protect and love and cherish and no one could take that away.

"We aren't going to give her up," said Carlos, unknowingly begging Gaby to come back to him. There had to be some magic words that would save her. "I don't care what we have to do. She is ours."

"They took Lily," moaned Gaby. "They took her away and we couldn't do anything. Don't lie to me."

Carlos swallowed hard. "That was different," he said, trying to convince himself as much as her. He had no idea what could happen; what the law would say. All he knew was that he would go to hell and back to keep Juanita, but he couldn't do it without Gaby. "Please, Gaby, believe me. She is ours."

"My baby…Carlos, she's my baby…"

"Yes." Not knowing what else to do, Carlos backed away, looking down at Gaby and wiping away her tears with clumsy fingers. She stared at him woodenly, a listlessness in her eyes that he didn't know what to make of. He'd caused that. He'd killed some part of her that he feared could never be restored. "Gaby, I need you," he pleaded. "I need you to be with me on this. I need you to be strong for me. I need my wife."

"Why is this happening?"

"I don't know. But that doesn't mean we just have to sit by and watch it happen."

Slowly, Gaby nodded, and Carlos felt relief sweep through his body so shockingly that his legs nearly buckled beneath him. He hadn't realized just how afraid he'd been. "What are we going to do?"

"We're going to take this one day at a time. We're going to fight like hell no matter what happens."

"I can't lose her."

"Neither can I."

Tears welled up in Gaby's eyes again, spilling over and running down her cheeks. "Carlos…" she whispered, leaning forward and hugging him again. For the first time in her life, Gabrielle Solis was helpless, and Carlos had no idea what to do about it. The truth was, he was just as impotent, and he was doing a poor job of pretending otherwise.

"She's our baby," he said again; comfortless words in a situation that knew no mercy. "Remember that."

"Our baby. Carlos, I just…" Gaby trailed off, hiccupping and sobbing into his shirt again.

"We are going to get through this. We're a family. Nothing can change that."

But as Carlos looked down at his wife, he was already certain that they'd changed irreparably.


	3. Content

**Disclaimer: **Nope. Not mine.

**Chapter Summary: **Happiness is all relative. Three father-daughter conversations not seen in the episode. A post-ep for "Truly Content."

**Coda: Season Seven**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Three: Content**

Julie counted the number of rings she heard from her mother's end of the phone, so certain by number six that her mother wasn't going to answer that she actually jumped when Mike picked up and said, "Hello?"

"Oh. Mike. Hi." She tried to readjust, but she felt off-kilter by the unexpectedness of her stepfather's voice. "Is Mom there?"

"She's in the shower. You want me to have her call you back?"

"Yes…No…" Julie sighed, and decided to just get everything off her chest now. It had taken her three days to calm down enough to call. "You moved."

"Yeah."

"No, I mean, you moved and you didn't tell me."

Mike chuckled. "What do you mean? Your mom called you." There was a long pause, and then he said slowly, "Your mom called you, right?"

"Well, she called to tell me not to call the home phone for awhile because there were 'technical difficulties.' I figured she just dropped the cordless in the tub again or something. But a couple days ago I forgot and called home and surprise! Some woman who is definitely _not_ my mom answered the phone."

There was a long, blustery sigh from Mike's end. Julie just rolled her eyes. "What's going on? Did you guys sell the house without telling me?"

"No. No, Julie, we're just renting it. We've been having some…money trouble lately. We had to move into a smaller place for awhile."

"Oh well, thanks for letting me know," she snapped bitingly. Technically she knew that this wasn't Mike's fault; it wasn't his responsibility to let her know, and there was no way he could have predicted that her mother would choose to keep her in the dark. But given the year she'd had, she felt she had the right to a little bitterness. "And don't worry. When I get married, I'll make sure to call."

"Come on, Julie. Cut your mom a little slack. She's been under a lot of stress lately."

"She's not the only one."

Mike paused for a brief moment, and then said, "Are you doing okay? I know…I mean, I know I'm not your dad, but—"

"You're the closest thing I have now? Yeah." Julie shut her eyes for a second and bit back a sigh. None of this was Mike's fault; none of it. "I'm sorry. I've just been having a really hard time since Dad…"

"Of course you have. No one expects this to be easy for you."

Julie swallowed hard and fought back tears. It had been a long time since she'd spoken of her dad to anyone besides her brother; somehow reminiscing with an eight-year-old wasn't quite the same. "My dad always knew how to make me laugh, you know? And I miss that. Mom's world always revolves around her, and Dad, I mean, he wasn't much better, but at least he tried to make me laugh."

"Well, honey, I'm not…I'm not really a funny guy, and I'm certainly not your dad, but if you ever need to talk, you can call me. I can be a good listener. And," his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, "I do know your mom. And you know as well as I do that Susan isn't easy to explain to someone who doesn't know her."

Julie laughed, actually, truly laughed, and for one short moment, she finally felt a little better.

* * *

Celia Solis was sitting in the bushes in her front yard. She'd been there for quite awhile, quietly playing with her doll and watching the neighborhood. She did that a lot—watching. No one paid much attention to her because she was so quiet, but she saw everything.

That day she'd seen the ice cream truck drive by twice. She'd seen Parker Scavo try to kiss a girl right on the lips. She'd seen Mrs. McCluskey smack someone with an umbrella. She'd seen Mr. Hunter talking to her daddy and whatever he said had made her daddy really mad. He'd stormed in the house and then out of the house, and now he was on his way back across the street with that angry look still on his face. Celia didn't care. Sometimes he got mad; sometimes he yelled; but it wasn't anything to be scared of.

"Daddy!" she called as he started up the porch steps. He paused, looking around with a scowl on his face, and then glanced down. From where she sat, Celia grinned up at him and gave a little wave. "Hi!"

"What are you doing?"

Celia shrugged. "What are you doing? You're in a bad mood."

"Yeah, I am."

"Well why?"

"Because."

"Because why?"

Her dad sighed loudly and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Because I got some bad news and it made me upset."

"Oh." Celia wrinkled her nose. "Mommy forgots to pack my show and tell yesterday and then I wasn't 'llowed to share and I didn't think that was fair 'cause I was gonna stand up and show the class how I can burp the ABCs like Juanita showed me but the teacher said that wasn't 'ppropriate so I couldn't. And I was really mad too, but then Juanita let me show all her friends after school and they're big kids so it wasn't so bad after all."

Her dad stared at her with a strange expression. Celia couldn't tell if he was going to laugh or cry, so she stood up and reached out to hug his legs. It always helped when someone hugged her when she was upset. "Maybe it's not as bad as you think it is, Daddy."

With a sigh, her dad bent down and hooked his hands under her armpits, hoisting her up into his arms and hugging her properly. "You know how much I love you, my little sunshine?"

Celia grinned and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "I love you too, Daddy."

* * *

"What're you doing?" Penny slung her arms over the side of the crib and glanced down at her sister, mimicking her father's pose. Paige was asleep; as far as Penny could tell, there was nothing particularly exciting or unusual about this, but the way her father was staring made it seem otherwise. "Dad?" she prompted.

"Just thinking."

"About what?"

Her dad gave her a sidelong glance that Penny met with a big grin and was happy to see reflected back at her. Lately, he'd been so upset that the whole house felt like it was under a dark cloud. Usually he was the one laughing or joking or just being goofy; it balanced her mother's more acidic humor and without it their home felt completely different. Teasingly, he reached out and tugged her ponytail. Penny rolled her eyes—the affection made her feel both comfortingly at home and much too childish all at once. "About you kids," he said. "And how much I love you guys."

"Even the twins?"

"Yes, even the twins," he chuckled. "You're all growing up so well, and I'm just so proud of you. You've been such a good big sister, taking care of the baby, helping out your mom…" He trailed off, his eyes suddenly watery despite his smile, and Penny looked away, acutely embarrassed. It was weird to see her dad all emotional.

"It's no big deal," she lied. Truthfully, everything had been a lot more stressful since Paige was born. Her parents were tired and crabby, the twins and Parker were gone as much as possible to avoid the craziness, and the baby woke her up almost every night with her crying. Penny felt a little lost in the chaos, too young to hang out with her brothers and too old to be at home with her parents and the baby. It felt like it would be years before Paige was actually what Penny had always imagined a little sister to be.

"So you doing okay, Penny?" Her dad ran a hand over the back of her head and Penny bit her lip. "I know we've been a little preoccupied with the baby."

She nodded, not willing to share how she really felt. She didn't really want to worry her parents anymore than they already were. In a halfhearted effort to convince him, she added, "Sure. I'm fine."

"Really? Because it's a big adjustment having a new baby in the family."

"I know."

"Your mom and I have been having a hard time too, so if you—"

"Dad! I know."

For a second, he studied her like he didn't really believe her, but Penny kept her gaze focused, unwilling to back down. To her surprise, her dad cracked a hint of a smile and then leaned down to kiss her forehead. "God, sweetie, you are so much like your mom sometimes it's a little scary."

Penny shrugged. Usually her mom said she was like her dad, so she wasn't sure what to make of the idea. She actually wasn't so sure she wanted to be like either of them.

"It's okay to let go sometimes, Penny Lyn," he said seriously, and then he brushed the tip of her nose with his finger. "Your mom and I will love you no matter what."

"I know," she agreed. "I mean, you've never given up on the twins, and I can't do much worse than they have."

Her dad laughed. The sound was so welcome that nothing else really seemed to matter.


	4. What's Inside

**Disclaimer: **This really isn't mine, although I did have a lot of fun writing this one.

**Chapter Summary: **It was the weirdest thing he ever found in her purse. An episode-related fic for "The Thing That Counts is What's Inside."

**A/n: **These take place in at random times throughout the show's history. They're also in no particular order. Enjoy, and please review!

**Coda: Season Seven**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Four: What's Inside**

"Gaby, why is there tinsel in your purse?"

Gaby glanced over at Carlos. He'd pulled out the clump of tinsel she'd crammed in there earlier and held it out with a disgustingly questioning look on his face. It annoyed her so much that she couldn't help but bark, "How do you even know it's tinsel?"

"Hey, I may not be able to see, but I know tinsel when I feel it. Especially since I've spent the past two weeks cleaning it up from under the tree. So what gives?"

"Fine," she sighed, slapping a piece of tape on the last corner of a present and shoving it under the tree. Despite how meager Christmas was this year, the number of presents felt endless, and Gaby had wrapped them all. The man knew tinsel by touch, but claimed he couldn't wrap a Barbie doll; something seemed fishy about that. "I put it in there for Celia."

"What?"

"Well she's always so fussy in the afternoon, but the other day I realized, if I wave some of that tinsel in her face, she settles right down. You know, like a cat batting at a ball of yarn?"

"You're waving tinsel in the face of our nine month old daughter?"

"Don't judge me!" snapped Gaby, waving her tape-strewn finger in Carlos' direction. "She may be attracted to shiny objects because of me, but that bad taste is all you." Carlos gaped at her, speechless, and Gaby gave a triumphant nod. "Yeah," she smirked. "That's what I thought. Now put it back and get your lazy ass over here. Mrs. Claus is tired of doing all of Santa's work."

Carlos just sighed.

* * *

"Bree, why do you have a stamp card for DeeDee's Double Ds in your wallet?"

With a snap of her neck that would surely twinge the next day, Bree whipped around to gape at her boyfriend. Orson held a card in his hand, the look on his face frank but amused, but Bree instinctively denied the existence of such a thing—mostly because she knew it wasn't true. "I have no such card!" she said vehemently.

"Really? Because if you get one more stamp, you get a free lap dance."

Bree crossed the room in less than a second and snatched the card from Orson's fingertips. She could feel his smile even as she looked down at the card, horrified. Indeed, one more strategically placed stamp on the cartoon drawing of a girl and DeeDee would in fact have double Ds. "Oh my God!" she cried, looking at Orson, horrified. "This isn't mine!"

"Now, Bree, there's no sense denying it. This explains why you always come home smelling like cheap perfume and sexy trollop on the weekends."

"Orson Hodge!"

Orson grinned, wrapping his arms around Bree's waist and giving her a quick kiss. "It's okay," he teased. "I like sexy trollops."

Bree shook her head at him, but already the scandal was fading to the back of her mind—not that she wouldn't confront Danielle about it later. She had threatened to get her back for not letting her go to that rock show last weekend. But for now…

"Oh, Orson," she sighed, crinkling the card into a ball in her fist.

"Mm hmm," he murmured, leaning in to kiss her again. "Trollops. Especially the red headed ones."

* * *

"Susan, why is there a crucifix in your purse?"

Susan stood abruptly, smacking her head on the kitchen table as she did, and she stared at Mike while rubbing the goose egg that was quickly forming on her skull. "Ow," she whined. And then: "What did you say?"

Mike reached into her bag and pulled out the large crucifix she'd bought at the drug store. "Crucifix…in your purse. What is this?"

"Oh, that's MJ's." Susan crossed the room and took it from him. "Thanks. I almost forgot about that."

"And why does our son need a crucifix?"

"Oh." Susan laughed shakily, setting the cross down on the table and wagging her finger at her husband. "That's funny, actually. You're gonna laugh."

"Susan…"

"Well, remember that vampire movie that was on a couple nights ago."

"The one that you insisted would be sexy and I told you would give you nightmares?"

"So you were right! But come on, how was I supposed to know that not all vampires are sex magnets?"

Mike crossed his arms, giving her that look—the one that said he dreaded where she was headed with this story. She hated that look. Usually he turned out to be right. "Anyway, I was kind of freaked out. So maybe when MJ wandered out of bed, I pulled him down on the couch to keep me company instead of sending him back upstairs."

"You let a seven-year-old watch _Dracula_?"

"Hey! You were asleep! What did you want me to do?" Her eyes widened and she shook her head. "Don't answer that!"

Mike sighed. "So the crucifix?"

"Well MJ was a little scared, and he asked me to buy him one, so…" Susan shrugged. "It's just a phase. It'll pass."

"Meanwhile our son will probably walk around stinking of garlic for the next month."

"Oh don't worry about that," she said brightly. "I tricked him into thinking that raw potatoes are garlic. That way no one will notice."

Mike just shook his head at her.

* * *

"Lynette, why is there a teddy bear in your purse?"

The words didn't register at first, but as Lynette raised her eyes from her work and saw Tom holding the bear's arm by the tips of his fingers, she sprung from the bed and snatched it from him. "You weren't supposed to see that!" she cried, smoothing her hand over the bear's head.

"Okay…" Tom stared at her, clearly waiting for her to elaborate, but Lynette didn't say a word. What was he even rooting through her purse for anyway? "Is there a reason the teddy bear is a secret?"

"Yes."

"And you were hiding him in your purse?"

"Yes."

"Lynette," said Tom seriously, "are you having an affair with the teddy bear?"

She rolled her eyes, smacking him with the bear and then flopping down on the bed. "It was supposed to be for your birthday, you idiot."

"You got me a bear for my birthday?" Tom sat down on the bed next to her, an annoying smirk toying at the corners of his mouth. "Is this something kinky?"

Lynette groaned loudly and thrust the bear at Tom again. "Here," she snapped. "Since you're so nosy you might as well look."

Curiously, Tom took the bear back from her, turning it over in his hands and squeezing it like it held some kind of a bomb. "Oh for God's sake," she barked. "Take the bow off its stomach so you can read what it says."

"What it says?" he muttered, but he did as she said, removing the clumsy green bow she'd stuck on the bear's stomach to cover the embroidered heart. "'I Heart Daddy,'" he read. "So it is something kinky." Lynette covered her face with her hands, wondering if this could possibly have gone any worse; she really didn't think it could have. "Sweetie, I'm not quite sure—"

"We're going to have a baby, Tom. A baby. Not some kind of weird, kinky sex with a teddy bear."

"Ooh. Wait, what? A baby?"

"Yes. You and me and a baby. Is any of this getting through?"

Tom hovered over her, looking at her like he scarcely believed what she was saying. "Are you serious?"

"Yes."

"Oh my God!" He leaned down, kissing her over and over again. "That's amazing! A baby!" He laughed. "Oh God, I love you so much!"

Finally, Lynette smiled. So it hadn't gone as planned. It wasn't like they'd planned the baby either.


	5. Me You

**Disclaimer: **It's still not mine.

**Chapter Summary: **Identity is a tricky business. An episode-related fic for "Let Me Entertain You."

**Coda: Season Seven**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Five: Me…You**

**Susan**

Susan knows who she is. She is misunderstood. She is a victim. She is a woman. Sometimes she feels like this is her entire identity.

When she was twenty-two years old, she married a man name Karl Mayer. It felt like the best decision at the time. She was a waitress with an Associate's degree that seemed more and more useless every day, and he was a rich, successful lawyer who told her she was the most beautiful woman in the world. So she married him, and she had a baby, and for a little while, maybe everything was perfect. Then Karl left, and Susan had no idea what to do. She wasn't independent; she couldn't survive without a man.

She's always known men were a dime a dozen. Blink your eyelashes and they come. But for a long time, she thinks she can only get a certain type of man. The Karl type. She still doesn't know how she was lucky enough to find Mike.

Mike is strong and tough and in charge where she is soft and compliant and cute. It is easy to identify herself through him: if he is those things, she doesn't have to be. She likes it that way. She doesn't want to pretend that she can take on the world because the truth is she can't. She's just a woman, struggling to get by in a world that can't cut her a break.

Her friends are so different.

When Susan first met Bree, she was able to fool herself into believing that she and Bree were the same: dependent; happy to be a wife and mother and nothing more. It took maybe two days to realize that Bree is so much more than that. Bree runs her household like a professional. Her food is impeccable; her house is immaculate; her appearance is never sloppy. Bree is control even when the world is going to hell, and Susan can't emulate that even when she tries.

Lynette is independence in every sense of the word. Susan thinks that it wouldn't matter if Tom ran off to Bermuda with a hooker, Lynette would simply pick up the pieces and move on. Nothing seems to faze her; nothing seems to shake her. Lynette frightens Susan sometimes because it seems unnatural to be that strong. Like Lynette is alone, fighting through life with no one to lean on. Sure, maybe Lynette can survive anything, but what is the point if there's no one there in the end? Susan loves her, but she wouldn't be like Lynette even if she could.

Everyone thinks that Gaby is beautiful—and she is—but Susan actually thinks that it's her confidence that carries her through life. The world bends over backwards to Gaby because she believes it should. Susan wishes she could be that confident. She thinks that her life would be much easier if she could simply make everyone believe that she deserves the best. But she's not Gabrielle either.

The world around her is full of women who are nothing like her. It makes her wonder, constantly, _Why me?_

She still hasn't found an answer to that question.

**Bree**

Bree likes to box people into their identities and leave them there. People shouldn't change if they can help it. It just makes everything messy and complicated. She knows because she has changed and it's only served to turn her world upside-down.

When Bree was a little girl, she wanted to grow up to be a wife and mother. She learned to cook and clean and sew, and while girls around her were talking about absurd things like becoming lawyers or doctors, Bree's greatest wish was to marry a lawyer or a doctor. At eighteen, she went away to college because that was what well-rounded people did. When she graduated four years later, she was engaged to a medical student.

Bree loved that life. A lot of the time, she still misses it desperately. She liked running her own business; she liked being successful; but the truth is that all of that was easy to give up at the end of the day. Life moves on. Besides, that isn't who Bree is, really. She is still a cook and a woman and a mother and a friend and a homemaker, and those are the identities that have always mattered to her the most. The only thing that's missing is the role of wife, and the truth is that she feels like she hasn't really fulfilled that role in years. She became distracted—lost in a world she never thought she wanted—and it cost her that identity.

Right now she's having fun, but deep down inside she knows that it isn't going to last. She can feel her true identity aching to burst out, and it's only a matter of time before nature wins. That's just the way the universe works. Her friends are living proof of that.

Gaby was lost for years, beauty sacrificed to a harsh reality. At times, Bree would catch glimpses of the old Gaby desperate to come back—a glance in the mirror that went on for just a little too long; a lingering touch of a silken garment at the mall; a sparkle in her eye when someone complimented her. Bree always knew that someday glamorous Gaby would come back, and she couldn't help but smile when it turned out that she was right. Proof, again, that people can only hide who they are for so long.

Lynette is cyclical because she foolishly wants it all. Bree has learned the hard way that that is impossible, but Lynette is stubborn. She treads water for a little while, but eventually has to swim or she'll drown. She jumps from motherhood to her career to sacrificing things for Tom and back again, never able to decide which she is; never able to decide which is most important. That is why Lynette will always be dissatisfied—she can't put enough effort into one thing long enough to truly feel successful.

Susan tries to pretend that the world has hardened her. That she's strong and tough and a fighter, but Bree knows that it won't be long until she admits that she's a mess. Deep down, Susan believes that there's always good to be found in the world, and that's why she's crushed by it so repeatedly. She wouldn't be Susan if she didn't cry.

Bree likes depending on the predictability of people. It makes it much easier for her to admit that while she's having fun right now, ultimately she isn't really going to be happy until she's someone's wife again.

**Lynette**

Lynette is keenly aware of how the rest of the world sees her. She is a mother who isn't satisfied to just be a mother. She is a businesswoman who doesn't care enough to sacrifice her family. She is a begrudging wife who doesn't appreciate what she has. And, despite all of this, she is strong. That is what people tell her time and again. _You are strong_.

Lynette is tired of people defining her.

This is how she sees herself:

She is a woman who loves her kids more than anything else in the world. If she has to, she will give up everything for them. She will die for them. But the truth is that she doesn't have to give up everything for them. At least not right now. And as long as she knows that she is willing to sacrifice everything in the world for her babies when the time comes, why is it such a crime to take a little time for herself now?

She is a woman who married the man she was crazy about because she knew that he'd be a good husband and father and friend. She loves Tom even more now than she did when she met him twenty-one yeas ago, but the plain and simple fact is that it's been twenty-one years. There are patterns and routines and rapport that develop between two people who have been together as long as they have, but sometimes she still worries. Her marriage is the hardest job she's ever had, and the only one she's never quit. More than anything, she wants to still be able to say that in another twenty years.

She is a woman who has always had a great head for business. It's a world where she thrives because it's a survivor's environment. Every man for himself; the smartest, quickest, wiliest comes out on top. Lynette can maneuver that world with her eyes closed. At one time, her career was the only thing that mattered to her, but somewhere along the way, it took a backseat to her family. Now, work is an escape; a place to be the best for just a little while before she goes back to the world where her heart lies.

None of this makes her strong. And she's not sure why her friends describe her this way because they're really not so different.

Susan is what she was as a child. Insecure and scared of the world. The unknown is a terrifying place and tomorrow is always a mystery. Susan reminds her why she never wants to be vulnerable. Sometimes she's harsh with her because she resents that weak little girl, but mostly she feels compassion because she understands.

She used to think that Bree was the competition. If she was ever going to be the best in a world that didn't extend beyond her home, Bree was the one she had to beat. But Bree's life has fallen apart time and again, and Lynette has come to realize that perfection she shows the world is nothing but a façade. It's a soothing reminder: no one is perfect. Because Lynette knows for sure that she isn't perfect either.

Gaby is a fighter. She will go to hell and back for what she wants, no matter what the consequences are. Lynette understands this because she's a fighter too. Neither of them can lie back and let the world step on them; not if there's any possible way to prevent it. Whenever she feels like she can't struggle any more, looking at Gaby reminds her that it's not a choice.

Lynette is scared and lonely and smart and jealous and funny and harsh and compassionate and so many other things besides strong. Sometimes she wishes people could see this.

Sometimes she wishes she could let them.

**Gaby**

Gaby knows that she's shallow. She knows that it's a joke to the rest of the world. What will Gaby say next to top the last vapid thing she said? But she's not a fool either; she knows that her beauty is all she has.

Other women get by in the world in a lot of different ways. Lynette is smart and savvy. Even if she didn't have anything else, she'd have an amazing career. It makes Gaby horrendously jealous sometimes because Lynette does have everything. The job and the marriage and the kids. And Gaby knows those things aren't going to disappear at fifty or sixty or seventy. Lynette is always going to have that life.

Susan is willing to put everything on the line no matter how much of her pride she has to sacrifice. Gaby has never met another person who is able to give herself over so completely, whatever the cost might be. That's why Susan will always be taken care of. Someone will always be willing to step in and help out a person who is willing to be that exposed.

Bree is classy. She's an ageless, effortless woman who only wants to take care of someone else. If Gaby's learned anything, it's that there's always someone out there looking for a substitute mother. Bree will never be wanting for that attention. And now, apparently, she can even find it in an insatiable lover, a fact that almost seems unfair to Gaby.

All she has are her looks. In time, those looks will fade. What will be left after that? Gaby dreads that day. She dreads it because all of her options will be closed. Carlos will finally have all of the power, and if he ever decides that she's not enough, he can leave her with nothing. She knows that it sounds crazy because Carlos loves her—for more than her looks, though she can't figure out why—but it's a thought that creeps into the back of her mind every so often.

She supposes that's what happens when her whole life is just a bomb ticking down.

Ten…nine…eight…

What will she be when her beauty fades?

…seven…six…five…

How will she get what she wants? How will she have any influence on the world?

…four…three…two…

What options will she have left but to be entirely dependent on her husband?

…one…

She tries not to this about it too hard. After all, she's not educated or talented or helpful. All that is has is beauty.

Kaboom.

She'll worry later about what she'll be once it's gone.


	6. Scared

**Disclaimer: **It's not mine in any way, shape or form.

**Chapter Summary: **Three missing scenes from "Excited and Scared." These all take place toward the end of the episode, still on Halloween night.

**Coda**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Six: Scared**

**One**

Carlos watches as Tom's mother steps unsteadily down the porch stairs and takes his arm. He'd been poised to interfere the moment he heard the shouting begin despite never seeing Lynette in a situation she couldn't handle. Still, he's surprised when Lynette sinks down onto one of their deck chairs, gingerly cupping her cheek with one hand instead of heading home with her husband and mother-in-law. Without thinking (because if he did pause for a moment, he might realize that Lynette lingered solely to have a minute alone), he steps outside and crosses the porch to stand in front of her, resting against the railing and crossing his arms. Immediately, she drops her hand; in the dim light he can barely see the red mark across her cheek. She's staring at him frankly—defiantly almost—and he's suddenly struck by how much he's missed her. It's been almost a year since they worked together; a year since that ridiculous fight began. And he's always liked Lynette, even when she drives him crazy.

"You okay?" he asks.

She nods. "I've had worse." And then, before Carlos can even begin to inquire, she adds, "I'm just worried about Tom. He was so in denial and now this…" She trails off with a slight shrug. "He's been having a really hard time since the baby was born."

"Yeah, I know." A brief look of surprise flashes in her eyes and then softens into a knowing smile. They're all friends. He and Tom have been out for a drink more than once after work, and it doesn't take much for Tom to start spilling his heart. The baby's birth, nearly losing her and Lynette after already losing their other baby: those things had done a number on his head. More so than Lynette probably realized. "He'll be okay."

"And you? Are you okay?"

"Ah," he says, chuckling even though it's the last thing in the world he wants to do. He can count on one hand the number of times in his life that he's been genuinely scared. Seeing his mother, desperate and crying because she'd gambled away the last of their savings and she didn't know how she was going to buy groceries that week. When he was first married, the constant, gnawing worry that Gaby was going to leave him (something he's not sure he could survive twice). Those first few months he was blind, no longer recognizing the world around him and so terrified that Gaby was going to wake up one day and realize he was useless. And now. "Yeah. It's been…" He shrugs, at a loss for words.

"But it's going okay, right? I mean, Gaby says that Grace is fantastic. And the other family is great."

"Sure. I mean, yeah, it all seems to be going fine."

"But?"

"But…" Carlos sighs and scratches the back of his head for a second. The truth is that there is a storm brewing in his home that Carlos can feel acutely—like a crick in the knee before a bad thunderstorm. Gaby is at the center of it. He knows that she can't help it. He knows that she doesn't realize that with every passing day she just further riles the wind around them—the apex of a fearful tornado. But the winds are gathering and growing stronger and pretty soon he won't be able to stop it. It's a terror that he can't make Gaby understand, and there hasn't been anyone else to talk to about this. And he wonders how much of a violation it would be to tell Lynette now.

"Carlos?"

Screw it, he thinks. If Gaby can talk to her friends, so can he. "This is going to sound awful, but I just don't feel the connection to Grace that Gaby does." He breathes a sigh of relief as the words come out; it feels like all the tension inside of him has finally subsided. "I know that she's my daughter, and she's a sweet little girl, but I just don't love her like I love Juanita."

"You've raised Juanita her whole life. I think that's understandable."

"I would do anything for Juanita," he says seriously, the words spilling from him now that's he's found a sympathetic ear. "Anything. And up until a month ago I thought Gaby would too."

"Oh, sweetie. Gaby loves Juanita."

"I know. I know she does. But she loves Grace too, and lately I can't tell where her priorities lie." Carlos swallows hard, fighting an unexpected lump in his throat. He wants Lynette to understand this perfectly, but she won't. She can sympathize and empathize, but she'll never know what this actually feels like. The only person who does is Gaby, and somehow Gaby has become the one person who he can't say any of this to. "I'm afraid that if it comes down to a choice…" He can't verbalize the thought, but it hangs in the air, cold and callous and impossible. Lynette stands, coming over and rubbing his arm for a second. The human contact is surprisingly comforting.

"Gaby loves Juanita. Nothing is going to change that."

Carlos nods. There's no other response to give.

But he's still scared.

**Two**

Susan arrives home that night with MJ asleep in her arms and her makeup smeared from crying, and Mike feels ashamed that his first instinct is to be annoyed. He pushes past the feeling (though he can feel that it lingers, running in his bloodstream like a poison) to ask what's wrong, but for once Susan doesn't want to talk. She hands off MJ and disappears into the bathroom; a minute later, the shower starts.

It's an unconscionable relief that he doesn't have to deal with Susan's drama tonight. Mike knows that it really isn't fair—his pride and orneriness are what put them in this situation to begin with—but Susan always seems to be able to dig her heels in and make a far bigger mess of things. Usually he enjoys this. He likes riding in like a white knight and rescuing the heroine; he likes saving the day. No other woman has ever made him feel as useful and proud as Susan does. But this latest escapade…

He doesn't know how to explain how he feels. Like she's dirty (even though she's not), and he's dirty by association. Like their little lives have been thrown upside-down. Like he is less of a man. And he can't say any of this to Susan because she already feels bad enough. But he knows what he wants to say:

_I'm mad at you._

_I haven't been able to look at you the same way since you told me._

_I hate that you did this to us._

He absolutely can't say any of this to her, and the things he does say might not be much better, but they're not devastating. They won't destroy her. They won't destroy them.

MJ doesn't wake in the slightest as Mike changes him into pajamas and tucks him under the covers. This will be their last holiday together this year, but Mike tries his hardest not to think of it that way. Hopefully Thanksgiving and Christmas will pass in a blur this year; days marked only by their ordinariness as he toils away in Alaska. He doesn't want to think about his family; he doesn't want to acknowledge what he'll miss.

For awhile after putting MJ to bed, Mike simply lolls around in bed, waiting anxiously for Susan. He wants to touch her tonight; he wants to ease that pain in her eyes and the ache in his heart and remember that he loves her. He loves her in spite of this. He loves her in spite of the whole crazy, mixed up world they live in where nothing ever goes right. After twenty minutes of tossing and turning, he has enough, and he creeps down the hall into the bathroom.

"Susan?"

She doesn't respond. He can hear her crying in the shower. Wearily, he sits down on the toilet seat and rubs his hand over his forehead. "Life is going to go on," he wants to say. Instead: "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

He thinks about reminding her that she can go back to illustrating now—he knows she's missed it. He thinks about saying that this will only be for three months. He considers prompting her again to tell him what's wrong. Then he actually says, "There are more important things than a house and money."

The shower curtain snaps back and Susan thrusts her head out, glaring at him. "If that was true then you wouldn't have to go to Alaska. You could stay here. And we'd be happy. But you are going, and I don't know about you, but I haven't been happy in months!"

Mike shakes his head. He hasn't been happy because, yes, the money situation is stressful, but mostly because Susan has been miserable. He never realized how important these material possessions were to her; he never thought that status meant so much. But Susan's disappointment with their current state hangs over the house like a storm cloud, darkening their life.

He can't say this either.

"Come to bed soon." He stands as she whimpers and disappears again. "I love you," he adds, almost as an afterthought.

And he doesn't say the worst thing: _I have to leave because I'm scared if I don't get away from you for a little while, I'll never forgive you._

**Three**

The baby is fed and burped and happy, but Tom keeps her cradled in the crook of his arm watching her big blue eyes wander the room in curious exploration. She's so alert, learning and growing every day; a stark contrast to how his mother is fading from the world. Tom realizes that there's every chance in the world that his baby will never really know her grandmother, and it's a horrible realization that breaks his heart over and over each time he thinks it.

He wonders if Paige's eyes will stay this shining, brilliant blue like her mother's or fade into his muddy hazel color. All of their kids started with this same bright blue, but only Penny's eyes didn't slowly darken. The boys all share his eyes: dark and shifting from a deep brown to a subtle green. And he got them from his mother. His mother, who looked at him tonight with the scarcest recognition for a second before her gaze softened and changed and she was herself again.

How many days remain before he'll never see that look again?

The ache of knowing his mother is sick is different than anything he's ever felt. When his children are sick, he feels desperate to take their pain from them and carry it himself, and it hurts to know he can't. When Lynette had cancer, when he faced her mortality head on, there was nothing but a blind terror and utter helplessness. Now, for the first time, he knows what it feels like to recognize his mother isn't well: a deep throb of loss; grief before she's even gone. It's the most morbid kind of pain, and he wants to fight it. He wants to deny it, but he will never be able to forget the sight of his mother slapping Lynette across the face. The image will be a constant reminder. That slap followed by that empty, hollow look…

The bedroom door opens, but Tom doesn't look up from Paige's face. It's been nearly an hour since he got home, but he doesn't blame Lynette for lingering. For one split second tonight, he saw that frightened child she kept locked deep inside of her and he understood. He understood her childhood in a whole new light; understood that awful trauma triggered by the worst infraction of trust. And that hurt too—that moment of terror in her eyes that slowly gave way to pity—it burned him from the inside out.

Lynette walks to the bed, running a hand over the back of his head down to his neck and then bending to kiss his temple. For a second, he glances at her, still in costume, and how could it be that just a few hours ago they were laughing about the fun he'd have taking that dress off of her? She kisses him again, and he reaches out a hand to tug at her elbow. She obliges him willingly, sitting down on the bed and smiling sadly.

"You okay?" He reaches out a hand to touch the spot where his mother hit her. He expects it to scald his hand, but of course it doesn't. After a second, she puts her hand over his, pressing it into her cheek and leaning into his touch.

"Good as new," she says, but there isn't any humor to be found. "Are you okay?"

He looks back to Paige. Her eyes find his, staring up at him with that total, adoring recognition that only a child can have for her parent. Suddenly, he starts to cry.

Lynette says something he doesn't hear, takes the baby from him without any protest, and then she's there—warm and alive and tender and loving; her arms wrapped around him, pulling him into her. "I'm scared," he admits. The words fall out of him without thought or caution. They just are. "I'm really scared."

"I know." She holds him close; kisses the back of his neck. "God, I know."


	7. Business

**Disclaimer: **Oh it's still not mine.

**Chapter Summary: **The untold story of Lee and Bob's breakup told via excerpts from Lee's secret diary.

**Coda: Season Seven**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Seven: Business**

_Assorted excerpts from the diary of Lee L. McDermott_

**August 8**

Saw Bob today. We had a confrontation. He let all of my prize-winning tulips die. The man wouldn't know how to fertilize a flower if his life depended on it (note to self: there's a good joke in there somewhere that has the potential to get under Bree Van de Kamp's skin. Work on that). As if that wasn't enough, the man had to go and rub it in my face that the whole street hates me for renting Susan's house to Paul Young. A leper, he called me. Well, Bob Hunter, we'll see who's a leper after I start telling people that you plan to hand out condoms on Halloween! Ha!

**August 13**

I was showing the old Young house today, and I just happened to look out the window and you will never guess what I saw! Bob, lounging out on the porch with that skank Julian Touser. Julian was all over him too. Of course. Touching his arm and giggling. It was enough to make me sick. And then on top of that, I lost the sale. Whatever. If those people can't handle a little hissy fit from a grown man then they certainly can't stomach living on the same street as Gabrielle Solis.

**August 29**

Paul caught me hiding in his bushes today. He wasn't very happy about it. I tried to explain that I have the perfect view right into Bob's kitchen, but Paul didn't seem to care. He said that if I didn't stop, he was going to tell Bob that I've been spying on him (as if! It's only been like five or ten times!). Maybe everyone was right about him. This certainly wouldn't have happened if Susan was still here.

Well of course I promised that Paul would never see me in his yard again. I'm no idiot. The guy is trying to buy up real estate like he's playing monopoly, and I'm certainly not giving up that kind of business. So I offered Celia Solis an ice cream cone if she'd spy for me. That kid is always lurking in bushes anyway. No one will suspect a thing.

**September 2**

I happened to be driving down Wisteria Lane at 2am tonight and Bob's light was still on! I know what that means! That man never could perform in the dark!

**September 3**

Tracked down Celia today. She's useless! I asked her who went into the house with Bob last night and all she said was, "Who's Bob?" What is the point of being an innocuous little girl who lurks in bushes if you don't even know who you're spying on? Unsurprisingly, she didn't realize the own futility of her existential existence.

Well, just as I was really starting to rev up (I am a brilliant ranter; really, it's like poetry), Carlos came out of the house because he heard me yelling. Needless to say, I had to run away (which is a shame because running is the one thing that I don't do well; I can't help it—one of my legs is a quarter of an inch longer than the other), and of course right at that moment, Bob had to come out onto the porch. The bastard. It's like he has a sixth sense for when I'm being humiliated. And worst of all, Julian the skank was there! If he's the one Bob slept with, I may as well just die right now.

This is all Celia's fault.

**September 13**

Paul Young officially owns his old house now. Pro: I made another sale. Con: I won't have a safe place to stare across the street at Bob anymore.

**September 19**

I ran into Julian the skank at the grocery store today. I may have told him that Bob has gonorrhea. Let's see Bob get any hanky panky now.

God bless STDs.

**September 25**

I got caught in the bushes again today. Paul wasn't home, so I didn't see the harm, and then out of nowhere Penny Scavo just snuck up behind me and scared me half to death. She had the nerve to say I scream like a little girl (I happen to know I have a very manly yelp), and then she demanded to know what I was doing. Damn kid is just like her mother. But then I thought, the damn kid is _just like her mother_. Nosy and brainy. Perfect combo. So I asked her to keep an eye on Bob for me.

"Why don't you just make up?" she asked. As if I want to make up with that conceited, pompous, pedestrian jackass. All I want is to see him in eternal pain and loneliness. Is that really too much to ask? But I just told her to mind her own business and find a pair of binoculars.

And then, do you know what she said to me, dear diary? She said that she had better things to do! Like she has some busy fulfilling life. She's a little kid! I'll tell you right now, Celia might be a moron, but at least she never gave me lip. I probably should have kept that part to myself, but it just kind of slipped out. Things kind of got worse from there.

"You're ridiculous," she said to me, rolling her eyes.

"No! You're ridiculous!" I shouted back. I need to learn to stop shouting at these damn kids because someone always hears. The next thing I knew, Lynette came poking around to see what was going on, so I had no choice but to leap into Bob's yard. And that's when I realized the worst: Bob replaced my rose bush with a garden gnome. A GARDEN GNOME! After I begged him for years and years to let me get one of those adorable little guys, he went out and bought one! It was the final straw! I marched right up to the back door and pounded on it for five whole minutes before I realized that it's Monday and this whole time Bob was at work. Damn Bob and his damn normal work schedule. But I got the last laugh! I stole the gnome! And I named him Walter after Bob's brother-in-law, who he hates! HAHAHA! Suck on that one, Hunter!

**October 2**

Soooooooooo drunk! Tequila is yummy! Do you hear that, Bob? It's the sound of me moving on! Moving on with tequila! Moving on!

**October 3**

I hate tequila. Worst hangover of my life.

Last night Julian the skank showed up with alcohol and gave me all this bull about how he didn't realize I was taking the breakup as bad as Bob is and blah, blah, blah. Don't judge me, diary. I knew it was a load of crap. But the man had a bottle of tequila. And, honestly, talking to Walter is a little one sided. So I let him in and I got really, really, really drunk. After that things are a little fuzzy. I remember deciding to watch _The Sound of Music._ I remember kicking Julian out. And I remember…calling Bob? Did I call Bob?

Oh my God…I am pretty sure I called Bob.

Shit!

**October 4**

Oh diary. I did something phenomenally stupid yesterday. I kind of freaked out after realizing that I called Bob, and I might have (totally did) break into his house so I could erase the message. Okay, breaking in might be a little strong. I still have my key and Bob didn't change the locks. But I did enter without permission, and Bob was there! On a Wednesday! What the hell, right? And he had the nerve to demand to know what I was doing there!

"What am I doing here? What are you doing here?"

"This is my house." Damn that man and his LOGIC.

"Well this used to be my house. And a house never forgets its previous owners. It's true. I know. I sell real estate."

"You've sold one house."

"Uh, THREE! And I also rented Susan's. So suck it, Hunter."

"Right."

"Look," I said, inching toward the answering machine. "I'm only here for one thing."

"Is this about that message you left last night? Because it was mostly gibberish. Something about Walter? Did you see him somewhere?"

"No! For your information, Walter is your garden gnome!"

"What garden gnome?"

"WHAT GARDEN GNOME?" Bob doesn't really listen when I scream, but I was kind of pissed. And maybe still a little drunk. "Well with that kind of attitude, it's no wonder you're ALONE!"

And then I stormed out. So at least I got the last word. Everyone knows that's all that really matters in an argument. But if I'm going to tell the truth…

No. I'm not going to.

**October 10**

I returned Walter today. Left him on Bob's porch. It wasn't for any stupid, sentimental reason either. Just that gnomes don't belong sitting on the kitchen counter of a single man. They deserve better. They deserve big, open gardens with lots of room to roam. He'll be happier there.

**October 17**

Renee Perry is having a Halloween party. I'm sure Bob must be going, so I am too. I'm going to show him exactly what he's missing!

**November 1**

Bob wasn't at the party last night. On top of that, the party was totally lame. Renee showed up in the same costume as me (as if it wasn't obvious that I was going to be Marilyn; pfsh!), and all of the guests were so mellow. No one got trashed. There was no dancing. Lame. Lame. Lame. I just know that everyone was gossiping about how much better my and Bob's parties used to be. That'll teach Renee to encroach on my territory.

Then on top of that, Susan dumped MJ on my hands and made me walk him over to McCluskey's. She was pissed too, though, because Renee didn't invite her to the party, so she invited me in and the two of us stayed up late drinking beer and gossiping about the neighbors. I have missed so much since I moved off of that street! Bree is dating some hottie who is like twenty years younger than she is! I didn't know she had it in her!

I ended up passing out on her couch. When I left this morning, Bob was just leaving for work. He waved but I pretended not to see him.

Crappy Halloween.

**November 5**

I heard through the grapevine that Bob is out with some Latino hottie! Who is this? I must find out! We don't even know any Latino hotties!

**November 7**

Gaby spilled the beans today. Bob is out with CARLOS! This is a disaster! God, why did I cut Celia out of the loop! I need her now more than ever!

Damn it!

**November 9**

Where is he? Where is he? Where is he? I've been hiding out in my car watching the house for like three hours now. WHERE IS HE?

**November 10**

I may as well face it. I've lost him forever. Carlos wins. I'll just have to move in with Gaby and the two of us can spend the rest of our days shopping and mourning our losses (mine is so much more tragic than hers). I guess I should just be happy that it was Carlos and not Tom or Mike or Roy (you never know—Bob has lost his damn mind!) because there's no way I could move in with any of those other women and live out a sexless existence of dampening my misery with alcohol and show tunes.

Where is my _Cabaret _soundtrack?

**November 11**

Made up (out) with Bob today. I know what you're thinking: I had totally moved on and was living a very happy and fulfilling life. But you have to understand, you just can't fight sexual attraction like Bob and I have. It's just like when we met. He was dating Ned and I was totally involved that unrequited love affair with Mario Lopez, but from the moment we laid eyes on each other we just couldn't deny our passion. Plus we belong together. We're like the Ricardos of Wisteria Lane (idea: be Lucille Ball for Halloween next year? Ask Bree where she gets her hair dyed).

Tomorrow Bob is going to hire three strong men to move my stuff back. And I get to supervise. Best day ever.

God, spying is going to be so much easier now that I'm home.

Note: must send Gaby a fruit basket. Or shoe basket. Look into that.

Most importantly: Carlos has nothing on me. No one is hotter than Lee (it's true…Bob told me).

It's so good to be home.


	8. Sorry

**Disclaimer: **Oh, it's definitely not mine.

**Chapter Summary: **Paul is being haunted, and there's nothing he can do about it. Post-ep for "Sorry-Grateful."

**Coda: Season Seven  
**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Eight: Sorry**

Sometimes Paul wishes that he could tell Beth that he's being haunted. He wakes up next to her in the morning and sees her lying there, so peacefully, and he knows that she wouldn't think he's crazy; she wouldn't judge him. But just as he reaches over to shake her awake, just as the words feel as though they're going to spill effortlessly out of his mouth, he hears her in his head and he can't.

_You're going to tell her about _me_, Paul. As if you haven't betrayed me already…_

It's getting harder and harder to keep all of these secrets too. Beth always looks at him so imploringly. She's longing for him to let her in, and Paul wants to because she has let him in, and he's positive that he can trust her. There's that same kindness in her that Mary Alice had.

_Really, Paul. You're going to compare her to me?_

So he keeps quiet.

Tonight at Thanksgiving dinner, he came closer than ever before to confessing his deepest, darkest secret, but still the voice in his head—that ghostly, ever-present voice—interfered, practically screaming at him to stay silent. Even now, as he stands in the kitchen, monotonously washing the dishes by hand, she's with him. But that's not surprising. More and more often, she is in his head now.

_Best Thanksgiving yet, dear?_

_**Best in awhile**_. Even the thought is timid.

_But incomparable to our feasts. Do you remember that year Zach was so sick, and all he wanted for Thanksgiving dinner was pie?_

_**Yes. You made eighteen different kinds. Zach was almost hysterical with delight.**_

_I knew how to take care of my guys. That's all I ever wanted: to take care of you and Zach. I made the ultimate sacrifice to keep him safe; to keep you safe, Paul. And what have you done for me in return? Have you even seen Zach since you left prison?_

_**He doesn't want to—**_

_Our son's life is in shambles thanks to you, Paul. I did what I had to, and you were too weak, too pathetic to hold our family together._

_**I'm sorry.**_

_You're sorry. Well, a lot of good that does us._

_**But I haven't completed ruined things. You know that. There was Martha…**_

_Yes. Yes, you avenged my death. That is _something_, Paul. Perhaps the smallest something. _

_**And you know I'm trying to get the rest of them. I haven't forgotten. I haven't forgotten what they did to us.**_

_To me!_

_**Yes. To you.**_

_My so-called friends. The ones who didn't care enough to notice that I was in trouble. The ones who dug through my past like it was something I carelessly discarded for anyone to see. The ones who destroyed our family with their constant prodding and questioning. _

_**They aren't going to get away with it.**_

_They've gone unpunished for thirteen years, Paul. Thirteen long years, I've been dead and buried, and they've been going about their lives with smiles on their faces. They never even think of me. Just like they never thought of you._

_**I know.**_

_So why should I believe that you, the pathetic coward who spent twelve years rotting in prison, will actually be able to do anything?_

_**I will! I am! You'll see.**_

_I'm growing impatient._

_**Soon. It's going to happen soon. I swear.**_

"Paul?"

He spins around, spraying soapy water against the floor; Beth jumps out of the way just in time. There's concern in her eyes. "Are you okay?"

He wants to say no. He wants to tell her everything.

"Yes, dear," he says tonelessly. "Just finishing up here. I'll be to bed soon."

_Good, Paul. It's just one more lie. One more _necessary _lie._

"Okay," says Beth, stepping over the sloshed water to give him a kiss on the cheek. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

She's laughing, in his head, as Beth leaves the room. The sound makes Paul want to cry, but he can't. He can't do anything.

Someday soon, that's going to change.


	9. Little Kingdom

**Disclaimer: **This isn't mine in any way, shape or form.

**Chapter Summary: **Andrew and Bree have a little discussion about Keith. A post-ep for "Pleasant Little Kingdom."

**Coda: Season Seven**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Nine: Little Kingdom**

Andrew Van de Kamp sat on the edge of his chair, arms folded on his knees in an attempt to look rapt with attention as his mother babbled on about possibilities for Christmas dinner. It reminded him of being a small child. He and Danielle would silently pester one another in the back seat of the car while their mother went on and on about ham versus turkey and soups and salads. It was a game—who would crack first and make a peep; who would be the one to break the diatribe from the front seat. He kind of wished Danielle was here now, subtly rolling her eyes behind their mother's back while he struggled to remain composed.

He always found himself missing his sister at the most random moments.

In the grand scheme of things, Andrew had long ago let go of any bitterness he held toward his childhood. When he was younger, he wholeheartedly resented his mother's regime, the way she ruled over their little kingdom with an iron first. Now he knew that it was just her desperate attempt to save their family because she was so worried that their world was about to fall apart. She had been right, in the end. Those tiny cracks added up over time, and ultimately there was no way to hold the pieces together.

Apropos to nothing, his mother suddenly paused, glancing down at her tea for a moment, and then quietly announcing, "Keith wants to propose to me."

Andrew frowned. He had the sudden, laughably embarrassing image of introducing Keith as his stepfather and had to resist the urge to cringe. "You're not going to accept?" he blurted out incredulously.

"You don't think I should?"

"Why would you?"

"I…" Andrew stared at her rather hard, and whatever she was going to say, she seemed to rethink it. "…care for him."

"Come on, Mom. I think we both know he's a rebound."

"Why does everyone seem to assume that?"

Andrew bypassed mentioning that Keith was only ten years older than he was—the argument didn't hold much water anyway—and aimed for something that might sting a little more. "Let's face it. He's eye candy. You don't marry eye candy." Involuntarily, a laugh sputtered from him. Never in a million years would he have anticipated having this conversation with his mother. It was one for the history books.

"That's not true. He's kind and sweet and nice—"

"All synonyms."

"He cares about me."

"And that makes a marriage?"

She gave him that _Andrew, you're on the verge of exasperating me_ look that he'd seen regularly since the time he was two, but he could see something in her eyes that suggested she wasn't quite as put out as she was pretending to be. She wanted his honest opinion, he realized. At what point had he become his mother's confidant?

"He makes me happy, Andrew. Doesn't that count for anything?"

Sighing, Andrew sat back in his seat and ran a hand over his face. "Of course. Mom, you should do whatever you think is right." He tried and failed to smile encouragingly. Something like a hard rock had settled in the pit of his stomach; a belated (or perhaps repressed) grief. Andrew was seldom maudlin or nostalgic, but he had a sudden, unfulfilled longing for his family. It seemed like ever since his father had died they had slowly drifted apart. For awhile, he thought Orson might have been able to mend the damage, but then Danielle had gotten pregnant and he'd felt like outsider and then everything had gone to hell so fast. Sometimes—not often—he wondered what their lives would have been like if his father hadn't died…

It didn't matter. There was no going back. And the way his mother was moving forward now was just another reminder of that.

Their little kingdom had been fractured forever.


	10. Down the Block

**Disclaimer: **I am not doing this for profit; none of this is mine.

**Chapter Summary: **Who shot Paul Young? A post-ep for "Down the Block There's a Riot."

**Coda: Season Seven**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Ten: Down the Block**

**I.**

Gaby can't remember the last time she thought clearly about anything. Her life used to be so simple—she took what she wanted when she wanted it, and like a petulant child, would throw a tantrum if denied. She knows that Carlos thinks that motherhood has matured her in some way, but the truth is that it's just made that selfish impulse worse. Now that she denies it more often, it manifests itself in ways that make her hate herself.

She wants Grace. She has never said this out loud, but she wrote it down today and put it in a letter that her daughter read. Carlos is furious—he's been raging all night about how stupid she is and how Grace is gone and not really theirs. He says that so many times that she finally breaks down, smacking him over and over and shrieking, "She is mine! My daughter! How dare you say that to me!" She doesn't understand how he can deny her this pain and this grief. Of all the things she's ever demanded from him, this is the one thing that she wants the most and he won't let her have it. She hates him for it.

She leaves the house eventually. Carlos went upstairs to check on the girls and Gaby fled, feeling suffocated in her own home for the first time in years. She hates Wisteria Lane at night. The deceptive quiet. The homes nestled together, so innocuous. It's like looking at a world where everyone is happy but her. In the day it's easier to pretend because she can see the people and their problems, but at night it's just her, alone in her pain.

Signs of the riot still litter the street, and that just makes everything worse. She will never be able to forgive herself for almost losing Juanita here today. She doesn't think that Carlos will either. There is a blister on their marriage that is full of resentment. It's just another thing to think about and worry about because despite how mad they are at one another, they are also desperately in love. She can't lose Carlos. It would kill her.

She is going to die here, she thinks. On a street that is ripe with death. This place has been like her coffin in so many ways that sometimes she believes that she's already experiencing a living death.

This thought rings in her brain so brilliantly, mixing with her fear and anguish and pain and regret so purely that she isn't surprised when the gun catches her eye. She could believe that she willed it to life; it isn't such a stretch. It glints under the streetlight, beckoning her, and as Gaby bends to pick it up, she realizes where she is.

Mary Alice's house.

It's a sign, she thinks.

The gun is heavy in her hand. She's never held one before in her life and she doesn't like how it feels. A gunshot wound seems an inelegant way to die, but holding this gun in her hand she can also see why it is so easy. One simple pull of the trigger. She wonders if it was so easy for Mary Alice. She wonders if it could be easy for her.

She hears a door shut across the street and instinctively she hides, skulking back into the shadows like she can hide her sins from the world. It takes her a minute to find the person who broke the silence, but Paul Young isn't being subtle and he isn't hiding. He looks positively giddy, in fact; he's so close to where she stands that she can see the grin on his face.

She loathes him. He is the reason that Juanita almost died today. He is the reason that this street wasn't safe for her baby to run away and hide from her pain, just as Gaby wants to do now. And she can't either because of him.

Why can't she just be allowed to grieve?

Gaby doesn't know what she's doing; she can't even think any more. She feels too much. It's all too much.

She raises the gun and fires.

**

* * *

II.**

The call came from Lynette and as soon as he picked up the phone, he felt his heart sink and his hands began to shake. He doesn't believe in psychics or ESP or any of that other voodoo, but today he had a moment of clear intuition: something was terribly wrong.

Susan in the hospital.

Susan fighting for her life.

Susan nearly trampled to death.

And it's all because of Paul Young.

Susan is still in surgery when he arrives at the hospital. Lynette and Bree are there with exhausted explanations that he doesn't want to hear, and eventually they grow quiet and just sit with him. It feels like hours before the doctor comes out and says that Susan will live, and Mike cries for the first time in as long as he can remember. Susan has always been invincible, and now for the first time she is cracked and flawed and he actually has a moment where he realizes that she isn't going to live forever. Something—someone—could easily destroy her. If not this time, then the next.

He tells Lynette and Bree to leave, says that he will pick up MJ in the morning. They look at him with concern, but do as he says. He has no intention of sitting there uselessly, though. He has no intention of letting Paul get away with this. No intention of letting this happen again.

There is a gun hidden in the apartment that Susan doesn't know about because she hates guns. He takes it out and puts in the bullets and thinks about how Susan would tell him not to do this. She doesn't know that he should have done this years ago when he had the chance. Paul Young is not going to take another love from him. Not this love. Not when she is everything.

He parks a block away and walks to Wisteria Lane. His footsteps are the only sound that breaks the silence, and as he walks he imagines the riot. He imagines Susan going down and no one being there to help her and Paul just standing there and laughing. Mike has never been so angry in his entire life—he's shaking from head to toe, curling his hands into fists just to keep them still. There is a key to the house in his right hand and the gun sits heavily over his heart. He is going to do this. Finally. When it is almost too late.

He is about to cross the street when the door opens and Paul comes outside. It's easy to slink back into the shadows; easy to tread on light feet and track Paul's movements. The bastard moves with a joy that makes Mike want to forget the gun and simply choke the life out of him. But he can't risk that; he needs to do this. He needs to do this now.

He raises the gun and fires.

**

* * *

III.**

Being on Wisteria Lane is like something out of a dream. He looks around and sees ghosts of a life that was once his, but it is a world that is intangible now. There is where he learned to ride his bike, speeding up and down the street and imagining that no one can ever go as fast as he. There is where he had his first kiss, a quick peck of lips against lips before the girl pushed him away and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand—it was still amazing. There is where he crashed his father's car the first day he had his license, blowing out the headlight and dinging the bumper. He can almost see himself stumbling from the car and stuttering apologies and his father had just been repeatedly asking, "Are you okay? Are you okay?"

Yes, it's all just a dream, long forgotten and distant now. He knows he can't go back. He thinks that this should be a realization of adulthood, a sign of maturity, but it feels more like something that was stolen from him. This is your life, Zach Young, and then one day without warning it's simply gone. That loss put an anger inside of him that was dark and thick—one that has been bubbling under the surface for years and years. It seems right that here and now, it has finally erupted.

He watches from the shadows for awhile, scowling at the garbage that litters the street and the signs of destruction that linger. It's like a physical representation of his own scars—the beautiful parts of him turned ugly, and he hates it. The street is silent, houses locked up tight and families sealed away from their dream turned nightmare. For the first time, Zach feels like he has something in common with these families: they have been robbed just as he has. And all of the blame falls on his father's shoulders.

His father ruined this place today.

His father has a new wife who is closer to Zach's age than to his own. A woman he puts his arms around and smiles at and acts like is the only woman in the world. It's such a lie. Such a horrendous lie.

His father is a murderer.

His father abandoned him.

His father stopped caring about him long ago—maybe the day his mother put a bullet in her head.

As Zach watches his father come out of the house, all of these thoughts war in his mind, pulling him toward that anger he's suppressed so long. It's so much worse, being back on this street. It brings back the other pain too—the one he has buried so deep for so long that he really forgot that it existed.

His mother. His damn selfish mother. This all began with her, right here.

Hatred is so strong and powerful, and Zach is tired of pretending that it doesn't rule his life. He's tired of not doing anything about it. And standing there in this horrible dream, he remembers…He remembers everything.

He raises the gun and fires.


	11. Assassins

**Disclaimer: **This still isn't mine. At all.

**Chapter Summary: **Orson has an unexpected revelation. A missing scene in "Assassins."

**A/n: **Hopefully I'll stop getting these in under the wire again soon; this last minute stuff is stressful. I hope you all enjoy this one; please let me know what you think.

**Coda: Season Seven**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Eleven: Assassins**

Orson thought that except for the new paint on the walls, and Keith's tacky junk, and Keith himself, he could very easily slip right back into this house—this life—as though he hadn't left. It seemed like a matter of inevitability. Obviously Bree wasn't going to be with Keith for the rest of her life (Orson had never heard of anything so ridiculous), and Orson could tell by her reaction that she had genuinely missed him these past few months. Most importantly, he had finally gotten enough room to clear his head and realize what he wanted; he had finally had time to work through his anger and hurt and sense of betrayal, and in the end only one thing was clear.

He was still in love with Bree. He was always going to be in love with Bree.

All he had to do now was to wait out Keith.

Said man candy was currently off with Bree shopping for something (manly towels, Orson thought he'd heard, though he didn't quite see any way towels could be masculine or feminine). He'd been wheeling through the house, trying to see how Bree had effectively purged him from the place, and finding a slight satisfaction in the fact that he was not entirely gone. A few knickknacks still remained; pictures from their honeymoon still graced one of the bookshelves. It was reassuring—proof that he hadn't exaggerated the significance of their marriage in his mind; it meant just as much to Bree.

She had gotten a new television. Orson suspected it belonged to his nemesis. And he didn't feel the least bit guilty about how he might have been accidentally on purpose deleting all of Keith's shows from the digital recorder. He was in the middle of wiping out "The Real World XXX," when the doorbell suddenly rang. As though it was still second nature, Orson wheeled over to the door, ready to welcome the guest as though this was still his home. When he opened the door, however, Carlos had the indecency to spoil the illusion.

"Orson?" he said, raising an eyebrow as though he'd never expected to see Orson again. "What are you doing here?"

"I live here."

If possible, Carlos' eyes seemed to get wider; it made him seem strangely childish without his usual facial hair. "You and Bree got back together? What happened to that other guy?"

"If you're referring to Keith, he is currently out shopping for manly towels. I'm sure they'll be a great comfort when Bree dumps him."

"Right." Carlos' lip twitched, and Orson scowled up at him. He'd forgotten how obnoxiously condescending Carlos could be. "Can I do something for you?" he asked in a clipped tone, unwilling to hide his annoyance.

"Gaby just asked me to drop off this check for Bree. It's for some fundraiser or something, I don't know."

"I'll make sure she gets it."

Carlos shrugged and handed the check to him, and Orson folded it and tucked it into his pocket without even glancing at it. Vaguely he wondered if Keith attended fundraisers with Bree now; if they went to the club together. It seemed absurd, but the thought was enough to reinvigorate his itchy trigger finger and finish off "World's Dirtiest Jobs" as well. He cleared his throat loudly. "Well it was nice seeing you again, Carlos. If you'll excuse me—"

"Actually, do you have a minute?"

"For what?"

"To, uh, talk," he said, and it was Orson's turn to be surprised. For the first time, Carlos seemed contrite, perhaps even a bit nervous. The uncharacteristic nature of this made Orson flinch with curiosity, and without really thinking, he backed up to let Carlos into the house. The younger man followed him into the living room, sitting down on the couch and looking profoundly uncomfortable. For a few minutes, they stared at one another, Orson flush with the knowledge that he could wait out Carlos forever, regardless of how much he wanted to know what this was about. Eventually Carlos seemed to realize this, and hesitantly, started to speak.

"I don't know if Bree's told you about Juanita…"

Immediately, Orson's mind flew to the accident—Andrew running over Carlos' mother. Had Bree actually confessed? It seemed plausible, although Carlos' reaction seemed surprisingly underwhelmed. Cautiously, Orson said, "What about her?"

"We found out a few months ago…Juanita was switched at birth with another little girl. Some nurse—I guess she was insane, I don't know. We never got a good explanation. But she's not…She's not biologically ours."

"No," said Orson, mind whirling with this unexpected news. "No, Bree didn't tell me. I'm sorry to hear that."

"Yeah, it's caused some…problems between me and Gaby. Juanita found out, and now she's trying to deal with that, and all I want to do is help her. But Gaby—I don't know. She's fixated on Grace, our biological daughter, and she can't seem to let it go. She can't seem to put Juanita first."

Carlos paused here as though he expected some kind of reaction, but Orson was at a complete loss for what to say. Truthfully, he and Carlos were not the type of friends to sit down and have deep personal discussions about their lives. They weren't the type of friends to share a couple of beers and hang out together. In fact, they weren't even the type of friends who stayed in touch—Orson hadn't heard from the Solises once since he'd left. So to hear Carlos confessing all of this now was somewhat mindboggling.

"I guess," said Carlos, seeming to sense Orson's bewilderment, "the reason I'm telling you all of this is because I thought that maybe you could give me some perspective. You know…because of Benjamin."

Orson tensed, an instinctive reaction to the backlash of pain that came from hearing Benjamin's name. It had lessened, somewhat, over the years, but there was still this constant ache in his heart that Orson didn't think would ever leave him entirely. And to hear Benjamin's name thrown out so casually—it felt like a bullet to the chest. Faintly, he heard himself gasp, "What?"

"He wasn't—He wasn't your biological child."

"No."

"So was it…I mean, that didn't mean you loved him any less?"

"Carlos," said Orson in some strangled voice that he barely recognized as his own, "what are you trying to ask me?"

"I'm just trying to understand—I need to understand if I'm being crazy here. Gaby's reacted so strongly to Grace; they had this bond. But I didn't feel that with her. I feel it with Juanita…I've felt it with Juanita every day since she was born. And I need to know if I'm the one who isn't reacting right. I need to know…I just need to understand this."

"I'm not really—That is to say…" Orson swallowed hard, an unbidden lump in his throat rising and falling rapidly. "I don't have any biological children. But Benjamin is…_was_…my son. And I never questioned that. I never doubted that just because we didn't share some genetic bond."

"That's exactly how I feel about Juanita."

"But you don't think Gaby does?"

"I know Gaby loves Juanita. I do. But…" Carlos shrugged helplessly, and Orson understood. What was going on was inexplicable; whatever Gaby felt, however she was reacting, was beyond Carlos' capability of understanding. But Orson had no idea what to say to that, no advice to give, nothing wise to contribute. And still, Carlos looked at him with these strangely imploring eyes, practically begging him to say the right thing.

Orson couldn't remember the last time he'd done that.

Finally, uncertainly, he said, "You can't force Gaby to feel the way you do. You have to accept that things have changed for her, maybe forever. And somehow, you're going to have to work with that, not against it."

Carlos nodded, suddenly looking at Orson with some kind of respect that Orson had never seen from him before. And two minutes ago, Orson would have reveled in it; he would have felt some needed boost of self-esteem that could have propelled him forward in unforeseen ways. As it stood, though, it was his own words that echoed in his mind now, torturing him in a cacophony of hypocrisy.

For the first time, Orson wondered if winning Bree back would be as simple as he'd thought.


	12. I Belong

**Disclaimer: **This absolutely isn't mine.

**Chapter Summary: **Lynette gets some perspective. Missing scene in "Where Do I Belong?" This falls after Tom apologizes to Lynette in their bedroom.

**Coda: Season Seven**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Twelve: I Belong**

"Mom?"

Lynette started at the sound of Penny's voice, letting out a startled, "Yeah?" as she glanced up from her book. When Penny didn't respond, she quickly wiped her eyes, upset that the action couldn't go unnoticed by her daughter, and put on a strained smile in an attempt to cover it up. She could tell from the look on Penny's face that she wasn't remotely convincing; in fact, she'd never seen her daughter stare at her in quite that way before. Worry and sadness (and what looked like but couldn't possibly be pity) strained her eyes, and after a minute, Penny turned and closed the door. Lynette shut her book and set it on the nightstand, carefully watching her daughter as she crossed the room and climbed into bed next to her.

Words stuck in the back of her throat like glue—wanting to ask Penny if she was okay; dying to offer reassurances; aching to be strong enough to act like everything was okay. Because somehow, somehow she knew, even before Penny spoke, exactly what her daughter was going to say.

"I heard you and Dad fighting earlier."

Lynette felt as though she was physically struck, even having known that these words were going to come out of Penny's mouth the moment she saw her appear in the doorway. Her anger, which had been growing steadily for days despite her claims that petty revenge was soothing, had blown up this afternoon, and at the time, she hadn't been thinking about how her daughter had literally just left the room. There hadn't been a thought of another soul in the world aside from Tom. Not for the first time, she wondered why she always had to be so damn rash. So damn emotional.

"Mom?"

"I—" Lynette swallowed hard, determined not to make this worse by bursting into tears. It seemed to take forever for her to pull herself together, but Penny didn't say a word, didn't even move. "I'm sorry you had to hear that, baby."

"Are you and Dad going to get a divorce?"

"No." It was an instinctive response; something she didn't even have to think about. She'd known from the start, even through her pain and rage and heartache, that she wasn't going to leave Tom over this. She reached out and took Penny's hand, squeezing it gently. "No, we're not."

Penny looked down at their entwined hands, and then put her other hand on top. Her finger ran over Lynette's wedding ring, tracing the gold band back and forth beneath her delicate skin. "Did Dad…" She took a deep breath, still not looking Lynette in the eye. "Did he really cheat on you?"

The ache that had been building in her chest for days now suddenly seemed unbearable. She had put this burden on her child. She had changed her perception of the world the same way Renee had changed hers days earlier. It wasn't fair; it wasn't right. It was excruciating, and no matter what else happened, Lynette had to make this better for her somehow.

"Penny? Penny, sweetie, look at me." Her daughter's eyes rose reluctantly, a streak of hurt so vulnerable in them that it was like looking in a mirror. Lynette took a steadying breath, reaching out and tucking a strand of Penny's hair behind her ear. "Your dad made a mistake. One phenomenally stupid mistake. But—"

Penny shook her head violently. "He's supposed to love you."

She softened; it was impossible not to when faced with such an innocent view of the world. She wondered if things had ever been so black and white for her—maybe they had before she met Tom. Before she realized that real love was much more forgiving than any fairy tale would lead one to believe. "He does love me, honey. You don't ever have to worry about that. I don't ever have to worry about that."

"But—"

"What happened," said Lynette firmly, "was over twenty years ago. Your dad and I were trying to work some stuff out, and we both made mistakes. But we got through it, and we got married. And we had you five wonderful, amazing kids."

"Then why are you so mad at him? Why is he sleeping downstairs on the couch?"

"Because…" Lynette shrugged, giving her daughter a slight, but genuine smile that warred with the tears in her eyes. "Because sometimes it hurts when you find out you've been lied to by someone you love. But that doesn't mean I'm going to be mad at him forever."

"So you still love him?"

"Of course…" She sighed and laughed at the same time, reaching out to pull Penny toward her. "Come here," she groaned, hugging her daughter tight. "Of course I still love your dad. There is nothing he could do to make me stop loving him."

"Really?"

"Really. And I don't want you to be upset with him either because he is a great man. He'd do anything for you kids, and he'd do anything for me. This whole thing…This is just one fight. We're going to get past it."

Penny nodded, but Lynette pulled back for a second to look at her directly. There was no hesitation in her expression, no doubt in her eyes, and Lynette felt relief course through her veins. It was borne of more than just reassuring her daughter, though. Admitting the truth like that felt like an instantaneous freedom, as though she had shed a façade composed purely of righteous fury only to find something much better beneath.

Maybe, she realized slowly, it really was time to let go. Time to let go of her anger and sense of betrayal and indignation; time to remember that none of this was about forgiving him or not (because she really already had); time to move on.

Tom was right. Their life was more than one mistake. Bigger; more beautiful; more meaningful.

With a tentative smile, she bent and kissed Penny's forehead. "Everything is going to be okay," she said, as much to herself as to her daughter. A soft reminder that the world hadn't shattered irreparably. She and Tom were right where they belonged.


	13. I'm Still Here

**Disclaimer: **This really isn't mine. I swear.

**Chapter Summary: **Sometimes it's hard to remember the people who haven't left. Two missing scenes from "I'm Still Here."

**A/n: **Reviews aren't everything, but it's always nice to hear what people think of my work, so please take a second to click on that box and let me know. I will appreciate it more than you'll ever know.

**Coda: Season Seven**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Thirteen: I'm Still Here**

Tom flopped down on the bed, turning on his side and propping himself up on his elbow. "Okay," he said. "I'm ready. Let's have it."

The viciousness with which Lynette had been turning the pages of her magazine came to an abrupt halt as she turned to look at him. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm sensing you're a little tense," he said. Somehow, he managed to understate this without laughing; Lynette was like a ball of nerves—repressed frenetic energy that was slowly building to the point of explosion. If her mother's wedding had been hard, the small reception afterward had been even worse. He'd spent the whole night waiting for her to lose it, but she'd held herself together rather well. Of course, if she didn't let go at some point, her frustration was going to manifest in some other way—most likely at him. "So let me have it. Vent."

"I don't want to vent."

"Yes you do." He tiptoed his fingers down her leg and squeezed her knee. "Come on, babe. I know you're just dying to say something snarky."

Lynette opened her mouth, but before she started, Tom put a hand over her mouth. "Not about me," he revised. Lynette rolled her eyes, and, smiling, he dropped his hand.

"Okay, first of all, do you know how many passive aggressive comments my sister made tonight about me getting pregnant to compete with her? Like I asked you to knock me up because I was worried she was going to get all the attention.'

"Lydia's insane."

"I know. But I didn't need that on top of everything going on with my mom. I can't believe she married that guy. You know she told me that she likes that he needs her?"

"Well—"

"What's with her sudden need to be nurturing? I mean, whose maternal instincts kick in at seventy-five?"

Tom fiddled with her wedding ring, unwilling to either defend or belittle her mother. Lynette just needed to get all of this out; it didn't particularly matter if he agreed or not. At this point, what he said mattered very little anyway; she was on a roll.

"I just feel blindsided by this. They've been dating for months. She couldn't have called and mentioned that at some point?"

"Given you more time to talk her out of it?"

Lynette pursed her lips, eyes narrowing. "Maybe. She's just so stubborn."

"Family trait."

Either not really listening or ignoring him, Lynette managed to let that slide. "I just don't want any more surprises. Can we just go one week without anything coming up?"

"Maybe if you and I hole up somewhere all alone and don't talk to anyone." He grinned, trailing his fingers up and down her thigh seductively. "You know, that doesn't sound so bad."

Lynette shook her head; it was obvious to him now that her hearing was selective. "The next thing we know, Bree's going to announce she's marrying Keith."

"So?"

"He's a rebound! And fifteen years younger than her. I love Bree, but I don't want to see her get hurt because Keith wakes up one day and realizes he wants everything he's giving up to be with her."

"Ah," said Tom, reaching out and touching the tip of Lynette's nose. She wrinkled it impatiently, but he just grinned. "There's my cynical little lover."

"I'm a realist."

"No, see, Keith's got the right idea. He gets that older women are so much wiser and worldlier. Better in bed. There's a real logic behind this whole cougar thing. Just look at us."

"I am eighteen months older than you, Tom."

"I know. Scandalous." He gave an exaggerated sigh and grasped her hand, pulling it up against his chest. "Everyone said I was crazy for marrying you, but they just didn't understand. Damn societal expectations!"

"Are you done?"

"Can I get away with another?"

"No."

"Okay. Yeah. I'm done."

Lynette sighed, shutting her book and setting it on the nightstand. Clearly her request for solemnity was so she could continue to overanalyze. It made Tom's need for levity all the more desperate. "My point is that there is constantly some kind of drama. And I think my mom made a mistake today."

"Sweetie, your mother is an adult."

"Since when?"

"And she can make her own decisions. There's always going to be someone who can look at a relationship and think, 'What the hell are they doing together?' Do you really want to be that person?"

"I'm not that person. Just because I'm worried about my mom, that doesn't make me that person."

"And your sisters. And our kids."

Lynette let out a huffy sigh. "Family—That doesn't count!"

"You just mentioned Bree and Keith. And didn't you once tell me that Susan and Mike couldn't make a responsible marital decision to save their lives?"

"You're saying I'm judgmental."

"We-ell, maybe a little. But mostly I think you just care too much. People are allowed to make mistakes. Just because you chose exactly right and never had one moment of doubt in twenty-one years…"

Lynette gave him that look: the one where her eyebrows rose and her eyes widened and it went without saying that she thought he was lovably insane. "You know," she said skeptically, "maybe I just lucked out because you made the wrong choice."

Tom shook his head, unwilling to let her deprecate herself—a hopeless defense mechanism that she'd probably never outgrow. "Oh no," he said, keeping his tone light and teasing, but supporting it with the weightiness of sincerity. He squeezed her thigh, forcing her to pay attention; she'd get maudlin now if he let her. "You've got that wrong. I'm actually the one person in the entire world who everyone looks at and thinks, 'God, that guy ended up with the perfect woman.' I'm the one who got lucky. After all, you're still here."

Lynette smiled, leaning over and kissing him softly—a _thank you_ and an _I love you_ and an _I'm so lucky to have you_ all at once. He returned the embrace wholeheartedly, his own promise wrapped inside that one gesture.

"I'm still here."

* * *

It wasn't very often that Gaby actually felt as tiny as she was. The high heels helped; mostly it was her confidence—you didn't feel five-two when you acted like you were five-ten. Every once in awhile, though, Carlos reduced her to near insignificance with an unparalleled ease. She always hated him for it.

"Let me go." She was still sobbing, her voice foreign to her own ears, and it didn't come close to expressing how furious she was. She felt captive—suffocated; he seemed inescapable. "Let me go."

"Gaby—"

"You don't understand!" she shrieked, her voice going from pathetic to hysterical in a matter of seconds. "You've never understood! She's mine, Carlos! Mine! I carried her inside of me for nine months! Why can't you understand that?"

Carlos rocked her back and forth, hushing her under his breath, and with one last wrenching pull, she managed to break from his grip. He was crying (it had been so long since she'd seen him cry). Selfish tears. Not tears for her pain or loss or grief, but tears of his own fear and worry. He wanted her back to normal—that was why he was crying. Even now, he had no idea why this was so hard for her.

Laughter bubbled out of her; she sounded insane. "You're like a robot," she shouted. "How does she mean nothing to you? She's yours too!"

"Why? Gaby, I don't—She shares my DNA, that's all! I never held her when she cried. I wasn't there for her first word. She doesn't call me Daddy."

"We were robbed! Why doesn't that kill you? It kills me, Carlos! Every breath I take, it's this searing pain in my chest and it's killing me!"

"Because!" he screamed, finally exploding. It thrilled her to see him come unhinged. No more false tears. No more lies and ultimatums and tiptoeing around this subject. They were finally going to discuss it; finally going to acknowledge this black hole that was slowly sucking their lives apart. "If we had her, we wouldn't have Juanita! Don't you understand that?"

"Of course I do!"

"Then what are you saying?" His shoulders sagged, anger deflating as quickly as it came. He looked at her now like she was a stranger. She was glad. She wasn't Gabrielle any more; she hadn't been for a long time. It was about time that he realized that. "Are you saying that Juanita isn't enough?"

"No. She's not."

'I don't understand that."

Gaby shrugged helplessly. "I know you don't. But for the rest of my life there's going to be this hole where Grace should be, and no one is going to fill that. Not Juanita, not Celia, not you, not some stupid doll!"

Carlos shook his head. "I never should have told you."

Part of her agreed. Deep down inside of her, in the place where she had decided never to tell him about Andrew running down his mother, she thought that she would have been better off if he had paid her the same courtesy. Her life would be so ordinary now. The same mundane, monotonous pace of normality. She would never have known this agony.

But then she never would have known Grace either.

"Gaby, we're your family."

"She's my family too."

"I know." Carlos took a cautious step toward her, but Gaby backed away. She didn't want to be placated. She didn't want him to pretend that he understood. "Gabrielle, Grace is gone. You have to face that."

"I face that every minute of every single day. You're the one who's buried his head in the sand."

Carlos nodded—the first sincere gesture he'd made all evening. It calmed her. "You're right," he agreed. "I've been ignoring what's going on right in front of me. And it's time I realized that this isn't just going to go away."

"You can't fix me."

"I have to." He closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around her tightly and pulling her to his chest. She struggled for a moment, but when he didn't restrain her, she finally relaxed in his embrace. The claustrophobia faded, and for the first time in ages, she felt like she had some semblance of control. "Gaby, I need you. The girls need you. And you can't keep going like this. You're going to go crazy."

"I already have."

Carlos squeezed her and then pulled back, cupping her face in his hands and bending down to kiss her softly. It almost hurt to feel him so tender after so many months of abrasiveness and tension between them. They'd put up walls that she hadn't even been aware of building. Until this moment, Gaby hadn't realized just how much she'd missed her husband.

"I'm still here, Gaby. And I need you to come back to me."

"I'm lost."

"I know." He kissed her again, resting his forehead against hers and breathing life back into her. "You have to find your way home."

Gaby shut her eyes and blocked out the world. She still hurt; she was still broken, but she reached out for Carlos in a way she hadn't been able—willing—to in months. Somehow, someway, he was going to bring her back.

She just had to trust him.


	14. Flashback

**Disclaimer: **This is not mine.

**Chapter Summary: **The past influences the present in too many instances. Post-ep for "Flashback."

**A/n: **Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter! You guys are awesome!

**Coda: Season Seven**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Fourteen: Flashback**

**One**

"Are you okay?"

Carlos stole an anxious glance at Gaby as he said this, but she remained as silent and expressionless as she had since they left the therapist. Even as he willed her to say something, guilt settled in his stomach like a familiar master—part of him wanted her to pretend with him. He wanted her to smile and nod and act like everything was fine because it would make him feel better. Not for one second, though, would either of them really believe the lie.

In some ways, this had been much worse than the first time he'd heard her tell the story. Then he'd sat listening without bothering to hold back his rage as she clinically told him what happened.

Now he'd been forced to listen as Gaby's pent up emotions spilled out of her, unable to react because this wasn't about him.

Then he'd been able to drink, the alcohol dimming his pain.

Now he was forced to endure.

Then they had promised never to discuss it again.

Now they were reliving it. They would continue to relive it because part of the problem was the fact that Gaby kept pushing it away.

Then and now, Carlos wished he could make it all go away forever.

Sadly, he reached out and took Gaby's hand, squeezing it gently. Without looking at him, she sighed. "I'm not okay."

"Today was hard."

Gaby nodded. "Every day is hard, Carlos. Today was worse than usual."

"I know."

Gaby pressed her forehead to the window, staring out at the slowly dimming sky like there was something magical there. "Just promise me that somehow this is going to make it all better."

"I think it will."

Gaby didn't answer. She just kept staring at the horizon—looking forward or back, Carlos couldn't tell.

**

* * *

Two**

Monroe could remember the first time he saw Susan Bremmer like it was yesterday. It was the first day of high school; his locker was three down from hers, and he'd been putting books away when she'd shown up with a whole gaggle of girls. They were all squealing over who had made the cheerleading squad. The moment wasn't anything special. If anything, Susan only stood out because she was the only brunette in the group, but when Monroe thought about it, he always pinpointed it as the moment he fell in love with Susan.

He still thought that if he hadn't blown out his knee the year before, he would have been on the football team, and he and Susan could have had that happily ever after. He'd be the one married to her with that little boy, and he could give her his kidney, and for the rest of their lives she'd look at him like he was a hero.

_You still could have been her hero_.

Monroe shook the thought sadly from his head. It wasn't enough; it never could have been.

He heard Susan coming before he saw her. He was far enough away that she wouldn't see him as she approached her apartment, just the way he wanted it. Once she was inside, he'd wait another half an hour before he knocked on the door. Perhaps it was weird that he was going to ask for his scrapbook back, but he honestly knew now that it was the only thing he had left of that girl he'd known decades ago.

A little boy reached the door before Susan. It took Monroe a full minute to realize that it was Susan's son. "Come on, Mom!" he yelled. He was bouncing up and down in front of the door; his energy made Monroe weary.

Susan finally stepped into view, looking as tired as Monroe felt. She had her cell phone to her ear, and hardly paid any attention as she opened the door and let herself into the apartment. In a matter of seconds, she had come and gone from him just as she always had before.

Monroe shook his head and walked away. He had to accept it. Susan was never going to be anything more than a phantom to him.

The next time he saw her would probably be at her funeral. Just another instance where she wouldn't know he was there.

**

* * *

Three**

Just as Stella downed her first whiskey sour, the twins showed up, plopping into seats across from her, two grinning bookends. After all these years, she still couldn't tell them apart.

"Hey, Grandma."

"Sorry we're late."

For one stupid moment, Stella waited for the rest of the family to arrive in a noisy caravan before she realized that the identical, expectant expressions on the boys' faces meant that they were waiting for her to start this dinner—this was it. Disappointment fluttered in her chest, and she crushed it with spite. Lynette always had to prove a point. Annoyed, she waved the waiter over to refill her glass. "Does your mother know you're here?"

"Grandma, we're twenty. We can do what we want."

Stella snorted with a derisive shake of her head. "Twenty," she muttered, "and still living at home. My girls were out of the house the second they turned eighteen, and they never came back."

Porter and Preston exchanged looks. She knew what they were thinking—that they would have been gone at eighteen too if they had lived with her.

"You know, Mom wanted to come…" one of them ventured as the other nodded in agreement.

Stella took her second drink in hand, extending an accusatory finger their direction. "Don't patronize me. This is just your mother not wanting to give up any of her power."

"Grandma—"

"No, no, no. Don't. I know your mom, kiddos. She's just pissed that I'm independent now. No more rescuing me so she can feel all superior."

"Mom doesn't think that."

Stella rolled her eyes and downed her drink. She'd never doubted that Lynette had probably told the kids every horrible thing she'd ever done—shown them how good they had it. But the fact was that the kids weren't going to do anything to get on her bad side now. "Your mom's been thinking that since she was twelve. She has this compulsive need to take care of everyone, and if she's not, she doesn't know what to do. Why do you think she married your dad?" The thought made her chortle, improving her mood considerably. Lynette might not have been there, but that only made Stella's need to berate her greater. "Why do you think she had all you kids? Well I've got news for her, someday you're gonna grow up and leave her the same way she left me, and all that control is gonna be gone. She'll just be a lonely old woman waiting for you kids to call."

The twins shifted uncomfortably; they looked like Tom did whenever he had to talk to her—tongue-tied and appalled. It made her wonder if any of Lynette's kids had inherited her ballsy-ness. Her daughter had been taking care of herself since she was a kid; she'd been giving Stella money from the time she was sixteen; she'd dragged her sorry ass out of more dives than Stella cared to remember. And the truth was that Stella hated her for all of it. Now, having this money, it was the end of it; Lynette didn't get to hold any of that over her head any more. It was the shift in power that Stella had wanted for years.

"Well what do you think?" she said, her triumph overthrowing her anger. After all, Lynette's kids were here with her, not at home. "Should we eat?"

Guiltily, Porter and Preston picked up their menus, and Stella smiled.


	15. Letter

**Disclaimer: **Nope. Not mine.

**Chapter Summary: **There have been many letters throughout the years. Episode-related for "Farewell Letter."

**A/n: **Thank you for reading! Please take a second to review. I'd love to hear what you think.

In an unrelated note, I think I'm going to do another request round during the March hiatus, so if you have a request for a fic, please let me know.

-Ryeloza

**Coda: Season Seven**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Fifteen: Letter**

June 1, 2003

Dad,

How could you just leave like that? You probably think you're being some kind of hero or dashing or some other ridiculous idea, but you're not. You're the villain. The villain is the one who leaves. Because it wasn't just Mom you abandoned. You abandoned me too. You left without even giving me a hug; you left without even saying goodbye. And now you expect me to say I'd rather be with you than Mom?

Mom is the one who stayed, Dad. She's the real hero.

I hate you for what you did to our family. I hate you for not caring enough to stay and make it work. I hate you for thinking that a couple of phone calls make it all better.

I'm staying with Mom. And you can't make me change my mind.

Julie

* * *

February 11, 2005

Dear Mrs. McCluskey,

We are sorry we stole your flowerpot. It was wrong, and we won't ever do it again.

From,

Preston, Porter and Parker

* * *

September 30, 2009

Dear Mom,

First of all, it's ridiculous that you don't have a phone. I talked to Marco, and he said that he and Anita offered to put you on their plan and you refused. I don't understand that; it's not like you had any pride about taking free stuff before so why start acting like you do now? Do you really want to be one of those women who lies on the floor for days with a broken hip because you don't have a phone to call 911? Just think of how embarrassed you'll be if a hot paramedic finds you like that. Get a phone!

Second of all, I'm sorry I forgot to tell you about the baby. I guess it slipped my mind. I put a couple of pictures in with this letter so you can see her because it's _absolutely unnecessary_ for you to come up here to help out. I promise I'll invite you to the baptism; you can see her then. She's the most beautiful baby in the world. Carlos and I are completely in love with her. He's calling her our little miracle, and for once he's right. After everything that happened with the surrogacy and the adoption, I really never thought I'd be a mother. It's so different this time, knowing that she is really truly ours and no one can sweep in and take her away. Sometimes I still have nightmares, though; it's hard not to worry that it's all too good to be true.

Yesterday Juanita smiled for the first time. Carlos was making these ridiculous faces at her and she just burst out in this beautiful grin. According to my friends, that's very advanced for a one-month-old. Carlos says that she's going to be a heartbreaker someday—he just knows she's gorgeous even if he can't see her. He's such a great dad; I'm just relieved that one of us seems to know what we're doing.

So get a phone and call me, and I will let you know when the baptism is. Father Crowley has never been so excited to see me in church; I think he's as happy about the baby as we are.

Love,

Gabrielle

* * *

December 13, 2015

Dear Julie,

If you want to drop out of medical school then drop out of medical school. If you don't want to be a doctor then it's better you quit now and find something you do love to do. Pursuing this just because it's something you wanted to do when you were thirteen is ridiculous if it's not your dream anymore. I don't care what you do, as long as you're happy.

Don't worry about paying back your tuition. I'm not so concerned about that. But do me a favor and keep this under wraps from your mom for awhile. She's got enough drama in her life right now, and you know that this is going to be dramatic for her even if it shouldn't be. We'll deal with that hurdle somewhere down the line.

I'm always proud of you, Jules. No matter what.

Love,

Dad

* * *

April 30, 2017

Dear Katherine,

How are you? Is Paris still everything you hoped it would be? Is Robin well? I certainly hope everything is as lovely as you described it a month ago, because I finally settled the affairs with your house. The tenant moves in tomorrow. I think you'd approve of him Katherine—recently divorced with no children at home. He enjoys gardening. Andrew says that he's gay, but I'm certainly not sure. He said that he was married to a woman for nearly twenty-five years. Of course, I never expected it from you either.

I do miss you very much. Orson left a few weeks ago. Irreconcilable differences is what he's citing for the reason of our divorce. Truthfully I believe he's just disappointed in me, and that certainly isn't a reason to get divorced. If I'd filed for divorce every time I was disappointed…

I'm not going to lie, Katherine; especially not to you. I'm heartbroken. And relieved that I wasn't the one who left. And lonely. And so tired of having to blame myself for this. Am I truly the only one at fault because he left over a mistake I made over a decade ago? In some ways I feel like Orson was just waiting for a good excuse, and I hate him for that. Then I remember the way he used to look at me, back when we were so solid and whole, and I break down all over again. This divorce is eating away at me, and I desperately wish I had you here to talk to.

Sometimes I wish I could be as courageous as you. I think that maybe I could just pack up my life and run away from everything. But everything I hold dear in the world is right here, alongside all the bad memories and the pain, and if I left it, I think that I might disappear. You ran away with someone you care about, but I would be running away to nothing.

I can't just start over from scratch. I've never been the type of person who could.

I do hope you're doing well. Please call or write soon. You're in my prayers.

Love,

Bree

* * *

November 6, 2017

Dear Grandpa,

Thank you for the birthday present. Legos are really cool. I really like building things. I decided when I grow up I'm going to be an architect and make build buildings like the ones they have in New York City. My parents took me there last Christmas. We went to the top of the Empire State Building. It was awesome.

Danielle told me that you and Grandma got a divorce which means that you don't live together anymore. That's why I didn't get to see you when we went to visit Grandma last month. Does that mean I'll never get to see you again? Danielle said that you're not my real grandpa and that means you don't have to see me anymore, but Leo isn't my real dad either and I see him every day. Danielle said that's different, but I don't know why. So will you still let me visit you sometimes? I figured if you say yes then it's okay even if you and Grandma aren't married anymore.

You can write me a letter or call me on the telephone. Uncle Andrew got me a cell phone for my birthday, but Danielle says I'm too young to keep it so you'll have to call the house. Danielle said it was okay if you want to.

Love,

Benjamin

* * *

December 12, 2017

Dear Grace,

There are so many things that I want to tell you, and it breaks my heart every day to realize that I'll never get to say any of them to you. Your whole life people are going to tell you how beautiful and funny and thoughtful you are (and they should), but the first person you should hear that from is your mother. My mother never really said any of that to me, and I always thought I'd never be like her. Yet here I am, unable to even talk to you, my baby. It isn't fair to either of us.

I want so many things for you. I want you to be happy and popular. I want you to stay sweet and innocent. I don't want the world to tear you down so that you have to rebuild from nothing. I want your life to be free of worry and pain. I want you to be healthy. I want you to grow up and be the most dazzling woman. I wish all of this for you every single day. I'll keep wishing it for you until the day I die.

Some part of me hopes that someday you'll discover out the truth and come find me. That we can have a real relationship, not built in lies, but in the truth: that you are my daughter and you mean the world to me. If I could see you even one last time, give you one last hug, maybe my heart could heal. But until then I can only wish that you know that your mother thinks of you and loves you every day.

All of My Love,

Mom

* * *

March 5, 2018

Dear Mrs. McCluskey,

Thank you for letting us stay with you and for only charging us the cost of the damages we incurred. We really wanted to apologize again for throwing a party and trashing your house. It wasn't fair for us to take advantage of a nice old lady like you when you've always been so cool—especially when you caught us drinking wine coolers and smoking cigars that one time and didn't tell our parents. That was pretty awesome of you.

We moved out for real this time, and it's really a lot better than we thought it would be. Mom even showed us how to make omelets before we left, so we thought that maybe you and Roy might want to come over for breakfast sometime. Consider it a thank you and an apology all rolled into one.

Your Ex-tenants,

Porter and Preston


	16. Searching

**Disclaimer: **It's not mine in any way, shape or form.

**Chapter Summary: **Mary Alice is a ghost that haunts them all. Post-ep for "Searching."

**Coda: Season Seven**

A story by** Ryeloza**

**Sixteen: Searching**

**i.**

Beth wonders sometimes why Mary Alice did it.

Hopelessness? Desperation? Fear? Anguish? Did the whole world shut her out so she had no place to turn? She always wanted to ask Paul, but never found the courage to be the one to make him face his own demons. She knows that he's haunted by his first wife—she could always see her lurking in the back of his eyes like a constant torture—and nothing she said or did could get rid of that pain.

Probably because she never said or did anything right.

Probably because that pain is what made Paul into a monster in the first place.

In the end, she supposes that the reason doesn't really matter because it's not the why of the act, but the act itself that destroys. The goodbyes that are never spoken and the love that goes unfulfilled and all the hundreds of little moments that will never get to be—that's where the pain really lies. Knowing why wouldn't make a difference one way or another; the person will still be gone. After months of living with Paul—of loving him even with that sorrow that stays with him always—Beth understands this now.

After all, no one is going to understand why she did it either, and it won't really matter.

It will be the act that truly haunts them all.

**ii.**

Susan misses Mary Alice.

It honestly feels like a secret that she's kept bottled up for years, but when she announces this to her friends at poker, their reactions play out exactly as they have in her imagination. Bree quietly draws into herself as though leaving the table without actually moving, and Lynette gets that mothering look on her face that is always just a tiny bit strained with Susan (like she grows weary of comforting her), and Gaby just kind of blinks for a moment and says, "Well, yeah. We all do."

In a very selfish moment, Susan's first thought is _no you don't_. Her anger flares like that more and more recently; it's so very tiring to be furious about what has happened to her that she spends most of her time not thinking about it, but it always lingers deep inside of her and comes out in moments like these—ones where the old Susan wouldn't have felt or thought or said anything unkind. She's glad this time it is only a thought. Out loud she says, "I know." It's a weak agreement—not that it matters; they've already moved on to something else.

What Susan can't say is that Mary Alice was the best friend she ever had, because you don't announce something like that to the group of women who have been there to hug you and hold you when you cry and find you a damn kidney when no one else in the world could. For goodness sakes, Bree is going to give Susan her kidney tomorrow, and she can't thank her by throwing out hurtful comments (even if Bree does look a little like she expects accolades of praise for this). It's just that Mary Alice was so effortless with her love. There was never judgment in her eyes, and as much as Susan loves Bree and Lynette and Gaby, they always, always look like they're judging her.

Susan has never known anyone who loved people as unconditionally as Mary Alice did.

She'll always remember that time after Karl left as some of the darkest days of her life, and even though Lynette brought alcohol, and Bree brought enough food to feed a dozen people, and Gaby—well, Gaby had wanted to take her out, but Susan had dissolved into tears, and they had ended up playing a very uncomfortable game of Scrabble or something equally ridiculous—Mary Alice had been the one to really sit and talk with her. Not saying that Karl was worthless or didn't deserve her or that she was better off without him, but listening as Susan told weepy stories of the times that Karl wasn't so bad. And then she said, "You'll get through this, Susan. You're stronger than you think."

Susan still says this to herself on her very worst days; somehow she never sounds as confident as Mary Alice did.

And there's no one to explain all this to, not even Mike because Mary Alice is a villain in his eyes, and her name has always been verboten between them. So most of the time it's just Susan, in her own head, missing her best friend.

**iii.**

Bree is glad when Gaby changes the subject away from Mary Alice, because Susan has that look of nostalgia in her eyes, and Bree does not want to spend the afternoon haunted by ghosts. Speaking of their old friend is a dangerous precipice for thinking of all the people she's lost, and the whole reason she's even donating her kidney to Susan is to escape from those very thoughts.

_And to help my friend_.

Of course.

The truth is that Mary Alice's death is one of those unpleasant realities that Bree so often stores away to never look at or think of again if she can help it. One day she had a friend who truly appreciated a good joke about water spots, and then next day she was gone. That's life. Bree understands this. After all, she's lost two husbands, and her relationship with her daughter is strained at best, and Keith is gone, and the only people who have actually remained constant in her life are these three women sitting at the table with her.

Why shouldn't her focus remain with them? It doesn't do to dwell on the people who have left her.

She doesn't want to think about Mary Alice.

_No_, she amends quietly, because not _wanting _to think about Mary Alice isn't enough. It still leaves room for those memories to slip in, soft and sweet until she'll want to do nothing but cry for hours over how much she's lost.

It has to be this way, or she'll go crazy.

She doesn't think about Mary Alice.

**iv.**

Gaby is about to go find another bottle of wine because the laughter in the room is a little more strained, the conversation a little less genuine since Susan brought up Mary Alice, and she thinks more alcohol will help, but the suggestion is only halfway out of her mouth when they're silenced by a sudden, insistent beeping sound.

For a moment, they all stare at Susan, who looks positively shocked. It is Gaby who breaks first, unable to take the tension. "Susan—That's your beeper."

Hands fumbling, Susan unhooks the beeper from her pants and glances at it with this anxious hope, like she can't quite believe what's happening. "I…This is it," she says breathlessly.

"What do you mean?" Bree sounds tense, and almost as shocked as Susan. "I've giving you my kidney tomorrow—That—That should be for someone else."

Susan shrugs, not unkindly, but just sort of dazed, standing and grabbing her purse. "I have to go. I…Wish me luck?"

Gaby gives Susan a tight hug, warily eyeing Bree, who doesn't seem to be taking this news with much aplomb. That's why when Bree suddenly stands and announces, "I'll drive you there," Gaby can't help but think it may be a bad idea.

"Really?" asks Susan. She shakes her head distractedly. "Yeah, okay. Thanks."

And bad idea or not, seconds later, they're gone, leaving Gaby and Lynette alone in the stunned aftermath. Gaby isn't quite sure what to say. She can see her own questions—the why and how and who—reflected in Lynette's own eyes, but neither of them are particularly inclined to actually ask them. Instead, Lynette asks, "Do you want some help cleaning up?"

They work in silence, which is kind of the great thing about Lynette—talking isn't always necessary. It's very rare that Gaby doesn't feel the need to fill the room with chatter and laughter in order to cover any lapse of quietness; usually it's uncomfortable, like there's a meanness in the lulls in conversation; something waiting to remind Gaby of all the things she isn't saying. But with Lynette, it's different—just easy; the same way it is with Carlos. There's no expectation for her to be funny or charming or intriguing, and the silence doesn't mean she's vapid.

The silence isn't filled with all of the things that they aren't saying to one another.

It's why she was the one to speak first after Susan's little proclamation earlier. She didn't want to be the one who didn't agree first, even though she knows deep down that she really doesn't miss Mary Alice that much to begin with. It's a secret that she keeps from the others because she doesn't think they'd understand, but the truth is that she only knew Mary Alice for about two years, and they were as different as night and day in most ways. Mary Alice was too perfect—too genuine and too good and too loving and too much of everything that Gaby had never been in her life. It was only every so often, when Mary Alice would get this strange, naked look of longing—almost like jealousy—that Gaby would stare at her and think _we're not that different. We're both searching for…something_.

Gaby is pretty sure she's found whatever it was that she needed back then. Acceptance and love and forgiveness and hope. But whatever it was that Mary Alice needed so desperately, apparently she was unable to ever find it.

Sometimes Gaby wishes she had just opened up and asked her what was missing. Maybe things would have turned out different. Maybe there wouldn't be this unspoken regret now.

But there's nothing she can do to go back in time; nothing she can do but occasionally wonder.

Mostly, it's just a reminder—that's why with most people she hates the silence.

**v.**

Lynette is just passing Susan's house when Paul tears out the door. He looks like a mad man, disheveled and frazzled and clearly upset about something, but just as he reaches his car, he sees her, and for a moment the world stands still between them. He's staring at her like a man who has been starved for affection for much too long; there are tears on his cheeks and a pain in his eyes that remind Lynette of the man she used to know. The man who had doubled over in grief when he found out his wife had killed herself; the man who had cried without abandon in front of the entire neighborhood; the man who had honestly looked like he'd never be able to go on without Mary Alice. It's like the years dissolve in front of her—no time has passed—and this is just Paul Young, Mary Alice's kind of awkward but sweet husband.

It's on the tip of her tongue to ask what's wrong, but Paul beats her to the punch, his voice coming out tired and broken like a small child's. The sound of it hurts her heart.

"Why do I destroy everyone I love?" And then, before Lynette can do more than think _I don't know_, he says, "Beth shot herself. She's—"

Lynette doesn't want to hear the word any more than Paul seems to want to say it. He rubs his eyes ferociously, as though trying to block out the tears forever, and then looks at her imploringly. "I know you hate me, but can you just pretend for one minute that you don't?"

She wants to ask _why me_? Is it just because she's there? Just because Paul has finally reached his breaking point? Just because she stopped for a moment and looked at him like a human being?

He is a human being.

"Mary Alice loved you," she says because she doesn't know what to say about Beth except that it's heartbreakingly tragic and horribly cruel.

Paul lurches lecherously like he's torn between standing where he is and coming toward her. Thankfully, he can't seem to actually move. "I did it for her—I was just so angry, and I'd lost her forever…She didn't even care what she did…But everyone acts like I'm the monster…"

Lynette's heart beats so hard and fast that she can hear it in her head. Is he confessing—He can't be confessing…

"You said you loved her—"

"I did love Mary Alice," she says, but her voice sounds far away like she isn't really there anymore. It's like last year all over again, being trapped with Eddie and the fear was everything. Once, years ago, she remembers Tom talking to her about saints, confessing that sometimes he still prayed to Saint Anthony because, teasing her, "Sometimes you make me lose my mind." But that conversation always stayed with her because sometimes she looks at Tom when things are at their worst and his eyes are shut, and she knows that he's praying for faith or strength or maybe both, and it's a comfort, like someone really will watch out for them. And maybe—probably—it's silly, but ever since Mary Alice died, Lynette has always prayed to her inwardly whenever something terrible happens, because she truly thinks that if there are saints out there looking down on them, then certainly her friend must be. Some part of her believes that it was Mary Alice who got her safely through last year, because when the fear was blinding and all she could do was pray, _please, please, please let my baby be safe_, she knows that it was Mary Alice who was listening.

She's never told anyone that—not even Tom.

But Paul is looking at her with this stark need in his eyes that she almost, maybe understands, and seeing him that way, it's hard not to feel bad for him. She's always had this horrible need to rescue the desolate because so often she's been that way herself. Paul is reaching the end of his rope, just like Eddie was, and for a moment, she thinks of how angry Tom would be if he knew she was in this situation again. But she also thinks that maybe Paul, like Eddie, just needs some kind of faith.

It's impossible to walk away.

"I have to believe she's still with us," she says, and Paul kind of looks at her in this surprised way, like she's the last person he'd expect to have faith in anything. _But you have to believe in something_, she thinks, _or you just get lost forever_. "I don't think she stopped loving us just because she died."

Paul is crying again, harder now, and shaking his head. "I think she stopped loving us the day she chose to kill herself. If she really loved me…If she really loved me, she would never have left."

Lynette doesn't know what to say to that because it's impossible to know why Mary Alice killed herself or what she was thinking or feeling, and even if she doesn't agree with Paul, she can't make him believe otherwise. The one thing she slowly realizes, though, is that for the first time since Paul returned, she understands him, she pities him, and she knows that he's lost—that probably he has been since Mary Alice died.

"I hate it here," says Paul softly. "I don't know…" He shrugs. "I don't know."

They stare at one another a moment longer—Paul searching her face for something that Lynette doesn't know how to give to him. She shuts her eyes against it, thinking silently, _God, Mary Alice, what did you do?_ and then Paul says, "You know, I don't think you and I are really that different. You can't let her go either."

Maybe she can't. But it's not the same.

She doesn't say this. It wouldn't make a difference anyway, although as Paul stares at her, she thinks that maybe he knows.

He doesn't say anything, though. He just gets in his car, and a moment later, he's gone.


	17. Nothing's Changed

**Disclaimer: **It definitely isn't mine.

**Chapter Summary: **Mitzy Kinsky prided herself on not being a gossip. Post-ep for "Everything's Different, Nothing's Changed."

**Coda: Season Seven**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Seventeen: Nothing's Changed**

Mitzy Kinsky prided herself on not being a gossip, not so much because it was beneath her, but because she had more important things to do than sit around caring about other people. Gossiping was for people who didn't have anything more interesting going on in their lives—pretty much every woman on this street and that gay guy with the fruity hair—and Mitzy had a very full and fulfilling life, thank you very much.

Of course, sometimes she couldn't help hearing things as she took a walk around the block. But that was just natural, not a vested interest, and she certainly didn't spread it around.

It wasn't like anything ever changed on this street anyway.

Like this morning: that loud blonde woman (Lillian, Lyla—whatever) had been next door talking to Paco about her husband. And it wasn't like they were trying to be quiet; whatever Mitzy overheard was completely accidental.

"You can play innocent all you want," Paco had said. He'd stood leaning against the house with his arms crossed. "I know you're the one who pushed him into this job."

"Tom just realized what he was worth. The fact that you weren't willing to acknowledge that is your fault."

Paco had laughed, shaking his head in this fond way. "God, I've missed your ballsiness. You sure you won't come back now? I'm going to need someone shrewd."

And blondie had smiled in this kind of sad way and just said, "I don't think so."

Mitzy wondered if they'd had an affair at some point. There'd been that big fight last year, the two of them and their spouses in that distasteful war—maybe that was why. Passion seemed to spur at least half of these people's actions anyway, and Mitzy could picture them together in some strange way, having sex on a desk or someplace else sordid.

And while she'd been pregnant too.

How delightfully scandalous.

"Well, if you ever want to…" he'd said, reaching out and squeezing her shoulder. At this point, Mitzy had gone up on tiptoe to see better, but Lillian had just smiled and turned to go.

Mitzy was unconscionably disappointed.

Of course, the big news today seemed to be that Susie had gotten her kidney. At least three people walked by chatting about it while Mitzy was outside gardening. Acting like it was some big miracle—but what was miraculous about some fool shooting herself and getting harvested for organs? Mitzy couldn't understand why they didn't see it for what it was: a lucky chance. No all-powerful being was upstairs deciding who got organs and who didn't.

Sometimes it was just a person's time to go. Mitzy knew. No one had stepped in at the last minute to save her husband, after all.

Lucky Susie that it hadn't been her time.

She was more interested in the fight going on down the street anyway. Red was trying and failing to argue quietly with her kid, but he was putting up this big stink about it. Kid never had been grateful; Mitzy had caught him pissing on her begonias once and came a second away from calling the cops before his husband had shown up to drag him home, apologizing left and right.

"Andrew, please. This is for the best," Red was saying, all pleading even as she glanced around to make sure no one was listening. "And it's just for a little while."

"Look, no offense Mom, but if you think I have a problem now, it's only going to get worse if I move in with you."

Trouble in paradise, Mitzy thought. Made sense. She'd seen the husband sneaking around the other night.

"I'm just worried about you. I don't think you should be alone right now."

The kid shrugged. "I've got to get used to it sometime," he smarmed, like he was really alone in any way. Even as he said it, Red just stepped forward and hugged him. It couldn't have been more obvious how much she loved him, and he didn't even seem to realize it.

Kid didn't appreciate what he had. No one on this street did. It was just the same old, same old. Nothing exciting; nothing'd changed. Just like every other day.

People talking, but not really caring. Longing looks with no action to back it up. All of these people lived in bated breath, afraid to do anything interesting.

Karen walked by then, huffing and puffing her way through her daily exercise and giving Mitzy a little wave. "Hey," said Mitzy. Before she thought it out, she added, "Karen, hold up."

"What?" asked Karen. After a moment of hesitation, she paused and turned to face Mitzy.

"You, uh, you want to come in for a cup of coffee. Chew the fat for awhile."

"Sorry, Kinsky," said Karen with a pointed glance at her watch. "Gotta be home in time for _Jeopardy_. Roy likes to see who can answer more questions. A little competition always makes him feisty, if you know what I mean."

"Right. Well—"

But Karen had already moved on.

Yeah, Mitzy wasn't a gossip.

No one cared what she had to say.


	18. Ill Concealed

**Disclaimer: **It definitely isn't mine.

**Chapter Summary: **Carlos, Tom and Mike drink away their problems. Post-ep for "The Lies Ill-Concealed."

**A/n: **I know I'm posting the nineteenth fic before the eighteenth, but hopefully it won't be long before that missing chapter is up. I would have written that one first, but my computer had a complete meltdown last week (and I spent about 4 days thinking that I might have lost EVERYTHING, including all of my writing). Needless to say, it was a very stressful week. And then I got to watch last night's downer of an episode, and I was basically compelled to address that first. But rest assured, chapter eighteen will be posted soon!

By tomorrow my computer should be completely back to normal (fingers crossed), and I'll be back to writing.

I hope you guys enjoy this one. Please let me know what you think.

**Coda: Season Seven**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Nineteen: Ill-Concealed**

"Security finally caught her and she spent the rest of the afternoon in their offices."

"Yeah," said Carlos blandly. The drink in his hand was trembling slightly as he brought it to his lips. "That's Lynette for you."

"It was a trainwreck. And completely humiliating. Just once I wish she would think about me-"

"She never thinks about you. It's always what she wants and what she thinks and what she needs. Fuck you, man. It's never about you."

"Carlos?" Tom exchanged a glance with Mike as they watched their friend down the entire contents of his glass and then tap the bar for a refill. "You okay?"

"I'm great. Just great." He glared at Tom. "What are you even bitching about? You take _your_ wife somewhere like _that_ and you expect her to act like...like..."

"Bree?" Mike offered. He and Tom both jumped as Carlos suddenly pounded his fist against the counter. For a moment, they stared at Carlos, waiting for him to explode or throw something or punch someone-something to match the outburst of anger-but as the silence stretched out awkwardly, as Carlos just downed his next drink without blinking, there was no choice but to bridge the pause.

"Okay, yeah, maybe, but just once couldn't she do that for me? Be that wife for me?"

"Lynette is never going to be that wife," snapped Carlos. "And you'd be miserable if she was."

"I'm just talking about one weekend. Three days of her life."

"Three too many."

Mike cleared his throat. "I think what he's trying to say...You can't expect her just to suddenly become another person. I mean, Susan might make me crazy taking in every stray in the world, feeling empathy for anyone and anything...She won't even let me kill spiders."

"And your point?"

"I guess I just mean that even if she drives me crazy with all of that, she wouldn't be Susan if she didn't do those things. And I love Susan. All of her. Not just part of her."

Carlos rolled his eyes, turning so abruptly that Tom had to steady him with an arm to the shoulder. "You're wrong. Marriage is all about conditional love. That's all it is. One wrong move and-" He made an unsteady pantomime of cutting his throat and then picked up his glass again. Sloppily, he turned to face Tom. "She's loved you what? Twenty fucking years? But trust me, it's all gonna go away."

"I don't think-"

"Yeah. It's gonna come down to a choice. It always does. She'll give you a choice and if you choose wrong that's it. Done. She's gone."

"Carlos, did something happen with Gaby?"

"Come on, Tom. Tell us. What are you going to choose: her or the job?"

"It's not going to come to a choice."

"Yes it will. It always does. One way or another. And she won't pick you. She never picks you."

"What?"

But Carlos had basically passed out, head in his arms against the counter of the bar. Confused, Tom turned to Mike, who kept morose eyes focused on his drink.

"You can't make it a choice," Mike muttered, almost speaking to himself. "You both just dig your heels in and she'll just do what she wants anyway behind your back. If you don't give in, then you're both miserable."

"Yeah. But what if she's the one who gives the ultimatum?"

Mike snorted as he picked up his drink. "Well...Then you're fucked anyway. Because you either pick her or she's gone." He glanced over at Tom. "You mean she's never made you pick?"

"She's never made me pick," echoed Tom faintly. "She's _never_ made me pick." It was true. Whatever bullshit Lynette had pulled over the years, whatever rash, selfish decisions she made, he could never remember her giving him an ultimatum. At least not one like that.

And as he looked at the two men with him at the bar, it slowly dawned on him that he was the only one who'd never lost his wife either. The realization was like a slap in the face, a thought that came in a flash and illuminated this entire situation in a whole new light. There was nothing that had ever been more important than their marriage; there had never been a choice.

For either of them.

Suddenly interrupting this epiphany, Mike sighed, pushing his drink away from him and standing.

"Where are you going?"

"Home. I may not like what Susan's doing, but I can't stop her either, you know?"

Tom nodded; if Susan was like a dog with a bone, then Lynette was simply unstoppable. "I know."

"And maybe the truth is that I _shouldn't_ stop her. I learned the hard way how easy it is to lose everything. I'm not making that mistake again. It's gotta be Susan, no matter what kind of completely crazy crap she pulls. You know."

"I guess."

"No. Tom. _You_ _know_. Don't be an idiot. You're not giving up Lynette. Not for anything." He threw some bills down on the bar and then looked at Tom. "Come on. It's time to go home."

Slowly, Tom nodded, any residual anger draining from his body until there was nothing left but a desolate anxiousness that he couldn't quite explain. It wouldn't come down to a choice. He knew that. He _knew_ that.

It was never a choice.

"Yeah," he agreed, not really feeling any better. "It's time to go home."


End file.
